


Mand'alor bal Kaysh Vod'ika (The Mand'alor and His Brother)

by sometimes_i_right



Series: Ori'shya Tal'din (More Than Blood) [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Fix it of sorts, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Slavery, Jango Fett Is A Good Dad, Mandalorian Obi-Wan Kenobi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Slavery, Whipping, even if he prefers to be called vod, mentioned prostitution, not exactly Qui-Gon friendly, oddly fluffy, or parent/child, seriously not Qui-Gon friendly, they're close brothers, this may be Star Wars but this ain't 'Bama, violence against a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 73,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimes_i_right/pseuds/sometimes_i_right
Summary: Xanatos decides sending Qui-Gon's new apprentice to an offshore mining rig is too obvious. Obi-Wan Kenobi winds up on a nameless spice freighter, and Jango Fett finds a new family.
Relationships: Jango Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Ori'shya Tal'din (More Than Blood) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187186
Comments: 600
Kudos: 2180
Collections: Anything But Qui-Gon, Favorite Rereads, Jedi Journals, My heart is full, Yubi SW





	1. The Start of Something New

**Author's Note:**

> Quick backstory for those who have not read the JA books: Obi-Wan gets booted from the Temple to become a farmer with the AgriCorps on Bandomeer. While exploring the agricultural dome with VeerTa, he comes across an alcove hidden behind a Force-sensitive wall. He leaves the area with his friend but decides to return to investigate that night. Xanatos finds him and the two sympathize over trying their hardest to make Qui-Gon happy, but never succeeding. Then some Offworld Mining security goons show up, Obi-Wan launches himself into defending Xanatos, and gets himself knocked out from behind.
> 
> I know, I started another wip instead of working on my Integration AU. But I wanted some Jango/Obi-Wan hurt/comfort and felt like being meaner to Obi-Wan than my other story allows. **Please mind the tags**. Most of the torture (and the implied/referenced bad stuff) is in this first chapter, which is also why this first chapter will be longer than most.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure what was going on anymore. He had been on Bandomeer, he knew that, but all he remembered was fighting some Offworld guards and pain in the back of his head and darkness.

And then he had awoken on some ship, a collar locked tight around his neck, and his body aching. His ribs screamed from the glancing blow one of the guards had slipped in with their electro-prod, and his shoulder sported a killer blaster burn across the muscle near his neck.

He closed his eyes and summoned the Force to gently prod the buzzing device. It seemed innocuous enough, though the Force whispered fear and caution. His fingers brushed across the smooth surface and he frowned when he couldn't find the release.

"Stop that," Xanatos demanded.

Obi-Wan's head snapped towards the cockpit where Qui-Gon's former apprentice sat. The dark haired man rose from the pilot's seat and approached while Obi-Wan struggled into a seated position.

"Where are you taking me?" Obi-Wan asked, confused. "What happened?"

Xanatos studied him for a few moments before a grin slashed his pleasant face open. Obi-Wan shivered at the sight, unnerved but not understanding why. "Don't worry, I'm taking you somewhere safe. As for what happened," the former Jedi trailed off. "I managed to defeat the Offworld guards after you were knocked out. Bandomeer is clearly not a good place for a little Jedi like you, so I thought I would take my lineage brother somewhere else."

Obi-Wan frowned, the Force twanging oddly at the other's words. "And what's this?" he asked, touching the collar again.

Icy blue eyes flashed as something in Xanatos' face shifted. "Insurance."

A chill ran up Obi-Wan's spine. "Insurance for what?" he asked.

"Qui-Gon's cooperation."

Obi-Wan's stomach plummeted. Surely…? "But… but I'm not his apprentice," he protested shakily, mind racing.

Surely he wasn't…? But Xanatos had been so kind!

Xanatos' eyes became frozen shards, every trace of warmth vanishing in a single breath. "Please, you expect me to believe that?" he scoffed. "He may not have given you a braid, but I can see that troll's meddling a mile away. You're the only other Jedi in a parsec radius. If you're not his apprentice, you're certainly his _responsibility."_

And that meant he was a pawn. A failed Jedi Initiate, banished from the Temple and reduced to what? A bartering chip? Good for nothing more than tormenting a man who couldn't spare a scrap of kindness if it saved a flunk out's life?

No, he realized as his fingers drifted back to the inexplicably heavier collar. He was less than a bartering chip. Bartering chips got to go home after their ransoms were paid - he was a _slave,_ doomed to vanish into the darkest depths of the galaxy.

His mind flashed to the stern warnings Master Yoda and Master Che had given him as a youngling. _Force_ he hoped Xanatos hadn't thought to slice his files. Force sensitive children were valuable enough. Force sensitive children from Stewjon…

He struggled to swallow, fighting past the lump of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"Y-you said you were taking me somewhere safe," he whispered, voice cracking. No! He was a Jedi Initiate. He was braver than this! He cleared his throat and tried again. "Were you lying?"

Xanatos shrugged. "A half truth," he replied with a smirk. "Our master was always talented with those, and it _is_ my job as your brother to fill in the gaps in Qui-Gon's teachings." His smirk turned malicious, and Obi-Wan felt fear shiver down his spine. "You'll be safe… from him ever finding you."

Obi-Wan yelped as the former Jedi grabbed his injured arm to yank him to his feet. He tried and failed to find his footing before he was dragged into the tiny storage bay at the aft of the ship and thrown onto the deck, door hissing shut behind him. He could just hear the locks cycling over the pounding in his ears.

He shuddered in a breath, drawing the Force to him and releasing as much of the burning pain as he could on the exhale. In the next breath, he extended his senses, trying to feel his surroundings.

They were in hyperspace.

Even if he could somehow get the Force to deactivate his collar and bust the door locks _and_ get past Xanatos, he would have to pilot a ship through hyperspace solo.

He was doomed. Kriffed, as Quinlan would so eloquently say.

He choked down a sob, reaching desperately for the comforting Force.

He stayed in meditation for some time, sorting through his emotions like they had been taught, though part of him knew it was a futile effort. No matter how he tried to acknowledge and release his fear and worry, the collar shifting with every hard swallow brought it rushing right back in.

As the ship slid out of hyperspace, he knew he had been as successful at meditation as he had been at getting Qui-Gon to take him as a padawan. He scowled as the door hissed open to reveal Xanatos, chain leash in hand.

Obi-Wan scrambled to get his feet under him, ready to dig his heels in and make Xanatos' life difficult.

"Stay away from me!" Obi-Wan demanded, falling into a ready fighting position.

Xanatos scoffed and stepped fully into the room. Obi-Wan darted forward, feinting right and throwing a punch on the left.

The former Jedi blocked the punch and neatly twisted away from the follow up. "Tsk, tsk, Obi-Wan. Do you really think Initiate forms will be enough?" he taunted. "I was learning these before you could walk!"

Obi-Wan scowled, refusing to fall for the taunts. His short temper had already gotten him kicked out of the Temple. The last thing he needed was to learn that lesson a second time.

Xanatos lunged for his arm, making Obi-Wan dart backwards. The young initiate went for a kick, which proved to be a mistake as Xanatos caught the limb and pushed, sending Obi-Wan crashing to the ground. He screamed as he landed on his weak shoulder, vision blacking out for a second. By the time he could get his vision to refocus, Xanatos had him pinned against the deck, chain leash clipped to his collar.

A pale hand flashed out and gripped Obi-Wan's hair tight, making tears spring to his eyes as Xanatos pulled his face close to Obi-Wan's ear. "Now listen here, _brother,"_ he taunted with a hiss. "Behave, or I'll make this a thousand times _worse."_

Obi-Wan glared, retort on the tip of his tongue that quickly changed to a yelp as Xanatos pulled his hair and jerked the chain so pain flashed across his scalp and the collar dug into his throat. The Force, cold and unforgiving and utterly foreign to Obi-Wan, lanced forwards to scrape harshly against his mental shields. Obi-Wan froze, eyes widening in surprise as Xanatos smiled.

"Much better," the former Jedi praised, hand shifting from his hair to pat Obi-Wan's cheek. Something - disgust? - flashed across Xanatos' face as he wiped his wet palm across Obi-Wan's tunic. Obi-Wan blinked and colored slightly as he realized he was actually crying.

"Chin up," Xanatos ordered cheerily as he dragged Obi-Wan to his feet and out the door.

Obi-Wan hastily wiped his face and followed, not seeing any other option. Xanatos had wiped the floor with him once already and seemed eager for an excuse to do it again.

Patience, the Force (or maybe years of training finally sinking in) whispered. He could observe, and wait, and strike when the time was right.

He needed to know where he was. Then he could escape and call the local law enforcement or the Temple or something.

He took a shuddery breath and stretched out his senses, and immediately flinched. The Force was alight with darkness; cold fury and cruel delight burned in Xanatos, drawing his eye with its intensity. Greed and fear and lust and impotent _rage_ burned no less ferociously from the myriad sentients surrounding them, cold Dark smoke rising from their emotions to blot out the warm Light.

He scowled at the lingering flash of amusement from Xanatos as he hastily retreated from the Force.

He glared at the market that sprang up just outside the docking bay. Hissing tradoshans and burly zabraks and heavily scarred humans bustled about, leering openly at the slaves stuffed in too-small wicker cages. Some slaves were kneeling at their masters' feet, eyes downcast and skin clinging to their bony frames.

"Stop that," Xanatos ordered, cold hand gripping the back of his neck and pressing the durasteel collar against his spine. The Force lingered threateningly at the edges of his shields, and Obi-Wan obediently blanked his face.

"Good," he said before discreetly pointing towards a zygerrian purring at a heavily veiled… something. "You see that one? Do you know what she is?"

At Obi-Wan's tiny shake of his head, Xanatos smirked.

"They built an entire empire before Jedi like you tore them apart." His voice turned mock curious as he continued, "What do you think she'd do to you if she knew what you were?"

"Same thing she'd do to you," Obi-Wan snarked before he could stop himself. "You were a Jedi too."

Xanatos snarled and cuffed Obi-Wan across the head, sending blackness skittering across his vision. He stumbled and blinked furiously as the former Jedi continued leading him through the market.

"Maybe I'll sell you to that one," Xanatos mused idly, indicating a man surrounded by scantily clad twilek women all chained together. "He's building a whorehouse. I'm sure he'd appreciate a red head like you."

Obi-Wan blanched, and fought to keep the fear locked down behind his tightest shields. He couldn't--!

"But no, that would be too easy. I know how our former master likes them. You would simply run away back to the Temple, and that pimp has no hope of catching you," Xanatos sneered.

Obi-Wan struggled not to let the flood of relief show.

They continued through the street, Obi-Wan watching the casual sale of sentients with growing horror. They had to be outside the Republic - there was no way this could be happening under the Republic's own nose - but this was just wrong. Who could look another person in the eye and just _decide_ how much their life was worth? How could anyone see a person - especially a child, he realized with no small nausea as they passed a cage filled with four twilek children clinging to each other - and only think of what they could do for them?

He was going to be sick.

He was going to be sold.

He fought down the panic as Xanatos dragged him towards a heavily tattooed human male.

He missed whatever Xanatos and the slaver were saying, too busy searching for an escape. Panic and the lack of a real dinner however long ago he had been on Bandomeer was really hurting him, and his grasp on the Force was starting to slip. The world felt like it was tilting, and he couldn't move his eyes too quickly or vertigo threatened to send him crashing to his knees.

He choked and stumbled to the ground as the collar around his neck jerked violently.

"Get up," the slaver demanded, kicking towards his ribs. Obi-Wan whimpered as the boot connected, one hand reflexively cradling his side while he struggled to push himself back to his feet.

"Have fun," Xanatos taunted with a cruel smirk and jaunty wave.

Obi-Wan didn't have time to shoot an appropriately snarky retort before something was shoved under his nose that left him coughing and gagging. His nose _burned,_ and then it didn't matter as whatever drug he had just inhaled hit his brain like a ton of bricks.

He hardly noticed as the slaver shoved him into a wicker cage. His Force senses were expanding, stretching to cover the whole slave market and beyond. He whimpered, the dark pressing against his insignificant little self and threatening to drown him in an icy tide.

He curled himself around the tiny flickering light at his core, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried to block everything _out._ Xanatos was somewhere infinitely near and infinitely far away, dark humor and taunting laughs and brilliant jealousy and cruel loathing lashing out at the Force, churning the gentle landscape into a frenzy. He was caught in the waves, tossed about like a watercraft in a storm, helpless against the overwhelming force of _cruelty_ buffeting him.

His vision whited out, flashes of color and unintelligible words screaming past him before smearing into focus.

The tattooed slaver was there, meaty hands dragging him from the cramped wicker basket by his hair. His eyes caught on the swirling pattern dancing across the slaver's head, and he watched, fascinated, as the man transformed into a different man with darker skin and a kinder face in bone white armor decorated with flashes of gold paint.

This new person was saying something to him, but Obi-Wan couldn't make out the words before the man's armor blurred and changed, the paint running and moving and shifting from gold to dark blue back to gold to grey to red. And then the armor oozed across that familiar form, melting from dull red and bone white to shiny silver and settling in a new pattern he felt he should recognize.

This man felt familiar and safe, like the person - people? Yes, people. A hundred, no a thousand or more, people with the same face - before him, but so much _more so._ He felt like… he felt like the Temple and _home_ , Obi-Wan realized, and nearly cried as the man faded back into the tattooed slaver.

"Stop your whining," the slaver ordered, slapping Obi-Wan across the cheek.

The pain was grounding, Obi-Wan found, even if it sent his head (and vision) reeling. He blinked through the spice haze and forced himself to keep the brutal, ground-eating pace the slaver kept. Not that he had much choice; the slaver's fist was choked up next to the durasteel collar and the slaver was quick to jerk him forward if he stumbled or slowed.

He barely noticed as he was led up a ramp and through a ship. Xanatos was feeling particularly irate or perhaps exceptionally cruel, and made sure to project as much Dark into the Force as a Fallen Jedi could. Obi-Wan barely bit back his whimper at the creeping cold pressing against his innermost self.

He yelped in surprise as the slaver shoved him through a hole in the floor, and nearly bit his tongue off when he hit the bottom. Stars exploded across his vision as his shoulder and ribs were jarred.

Heavy footsteps clanged down the ladder.

Obi-Wan groaned, forcing himself to roll onto his belly. He had to get away. It didn't matter where he went, he had to--

He choked as the chain on his collar went suddenly taut. He fought to get his feet under him, to try and anticipate where the slaver was dragging him so he could _breathe._ He couldn't--

The pressure suddenly let up, and Obi-Wan heaved in a few desperate, coughing breaths.

"Get up, whelp!" the slaver demanded. The Force cried out in warning a split second before the slaver's boot connected with Obi-Wan's ribs, sending him crashing back onto the dusty ground.

He groaned, and shakily forced himself up to his hands and knees. He couldn't quite see anything - the room was too dark and he was too dizzy and high and hurt - but he could feel cold radiating from something big and close. He grasped clumsily for a handhold, trying to drag himself to his feet.

A flash of fire slashed across his back, and Obi-Wan yelped in surprise, nearly letting go of the edge of the table. "I said 'get up,' boy!" the slaver barked, cracking his whip close enough to Obi-Wan's head that he could feel the air move.

Obi-Wan flinched away and pulled himself to his feet, nearly getting tangled in the chain connecting him to the table in the process. He blinked stupidly as his eyes adjusted enough to stare at the thick durasteel links. When had that happened?

Force, whatever spice he had inhaled must really be messing with his head.

He was never touching spice again once--

Right. Master Jinn had no reason to come for him.

But surely VeerTa had reported his disappearance to AgriCorps. And AgriCorps had to have reported his disappearance to the Temple, so _someone_ would come looking for him.

Right?

The whip cracked across his back again, and Obi-Wan yelped. "Stop staring and start working, boy!" the slaver barked, his words punctuated by another lash.

Obi-Wan hastened to obey, gaze flittering across the dimly lit table. Chunks of vaguely glowing rock sat in small rectangular trays. Finer chunks of rock and dust littered the work surface, but Obi-Wan had no idea what he was supposed to do. He glanced at the other… slaves? Force, he really was a slave, wasn't he?

Later, that was for contemplation _later._

Burning anger drew Obi-Wan's gaze to the slave opposite him. The man looked frightful; matted curling hair fell about a scarred face obscured by an unkempt beard. The Force swirled and prowled around this man like a nexu, darting in to rub affectionately against him before violently lashing out. He could see glimmers of blasterfire and dust and lightsabers and unspeakable _grief_ , but also hope and strength and _possibility_ in this man's past, present, and future, the endless opportunities floating about his head like a crown.

Was this what a shatterpoint looked like?

He yelped as the slaver's whip slashed across his back again. Concern and anger and protectiveness slammed against Obi-Wan's mind, and Obi-Wan blinked past tears to look at the source once more. The man was looking very intently at him and pointedly moved a cylindrical stone tool onto a large chunk of ore. He pressed down, crushing the rock against the tray resting in front of him as it slowly became a powder.

Obi-Wan scrambled to follow suit, grabbing the heavy crusher in front of him and pressing down on his own chunk of ore, trying not to whimper as the motion sent pain tearing through his blaster burn and the new lines across his back. The slaver felt satisfied at his obedience and stomped away, cracking his whip periodically and delighting in the thrill of fear the other slaves exuded.

Obi-Wan wanted to be sick at the clear enjoyment the slaver felt, but fear kept him focused. Or, mostly focused. The miasma of fear and defeat and hopelessness was far better than the greed/lust/hunger/anger he had felt in the port, but this new environment dragged at him. He wanted to curl up and cry or move and fight, the opposing desires making him twitchy and anxious.

Force he hoped whatever spice he had been dosed with wore off quickly.

Another fiery lash from the slaver had him flinching away, accidentally crushing his fingers under the tool he held. He bit his tongue rather than cry out and forced himself to keep grinding the rock into dust even as involuntary tears clung to his eyelashes and dripped down his cheeks.

They continued working for what could have been hours or minutes, the slaver not even allowing them to stop and strap in as the ship shuddered and took off, the repulsorlifts groaning loudly in the poorly-insulated bay. The spice had finally started to wear off, leaving Obi-Wan with the _worst_ headache and case of dry mouth he had ever experienced. But he was also able to start rebuilding his shields, so that was a definite plus.

He hadn't dared say a word while the slaver prowled up and down the workbench. No one had, even as the ship shuddered its way into hyperspace and the heat rapidly fled from the bay. He shivered violently in the leeching cold, surprised that his breath did not cloud in front of him as he panted, arms burning and shoulder absolutely on fire after an eternity of crushing rocks.

The loud clanging of footsteps down the narrow hatch ladder cut through the repetitive crunching, and Obi-Wan involuntarily tensed. He wanted to turn and look, but he could sense the overseer approaching, whip tapping ominously against one palm.

"Get your grub, whelps," the new arrival ordered, sounding bored. Obi-Wan almost sobbed in relief to put the crusher down as the other slaves shuffled as close as their chains allowed.

"Outta the way, kid," a zabrak grumbled as he pushed past, sending Obi-Wan reeling into the work table.

"No damaging the product!" the overseer shouted, whip lashing out at the zabrak and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan flinched as the whip licked across already stinging lines. Something - likely blood, though it could have been sweat - trickled down his back to prickle at the other welts. He breathed through the pain, reaching for the Force and praying it would help.

It did, but not enough. Everything hurt. He was tired and hungry and dizzy and he wanted to go _home_ and why was he here? What did he do to deserve this? He wanted--

He blinked in surprise as a bowl with a thin broth and a roll were thrust in front of his face. "Thanks," he whispered automatically, clutching the food closely. The man - the same man who had shown him what the slavers expected - nodded shortly and kept his eyes on him until Obi-Wan tentatively sipped at the broth and nibbled on the stale bread.

The slavers left as soon as the big soup bowl was empty, Obi-Wan curling away as the whip bearer snarled and glared at all the hungry slaves.

Obi-Wan collapsed to the dusty ground, privately dreading trying to figure out sleeping arrangements. The deck was coated in a fine layer of ryll and rock, all but guaranteeing a sore throat and perpetual high to anyone who rested their head on the floor.

And that was without finding out how slaves acted when no one was around. _Force,_ he wasn't even thirteen! He was too young--

"Eat up, kid. That's all you're gonna get until tomorrow," the kind man warned, nudging Obi-Wan's knee with one foot.

Obi-Wan's stomach growled, and he immediately dipped the hard roll into the broth. The man had finished his meal and was pointedly not looking at Obi-Wan's, choosing instead to glare at the other slaves eyeing the two of them. Part of him wanted to offer the clearly still-hungry man his own dinner, but he had a feeling such charity would not be welcome.

"I'm Obi-Wan," he offered after draining the bowl. He stared at the rough hewn bottom, momentarily wondering if it was worth trying to lick the last remains up before deciding otherwise. "Thank you for your help earlier."

"Jango," the man offered in return with a gentle smile. Obi-Wan blinked in surprise at how it transformed his face from something nightmares were made from into something reminiscent of the more battle hardened Jedi Masters; still fearsome, but significantly warmer. The effect was immediately ruined as Jango glared over Obi-Wan's shoulder. Obi-Wan had to resist the urge to check and make sure nothing was hovering there. "You shouldn't thank me for that."

"Why not? You helped me, and I appreciate it. We were taught to acknowledge such things," Obi-Wan stated with all the wisdom and certainty of a Jedi Master.

The look Jango gave him was loaded with an odd mix of emotions Obi-Wan didn't quite know how to interpret. He snorted and shook his head after a few moments. "Don't mention it, Ob'ika," he said gruffly before clearing his throat. "Take your rest. I'll keep watch."

Obi-Wan frowned, bristling at the vague sense that Jango was patronizing him. "I can take watch too. Wake me up when it's my turn," he demanded, glaring at the amusement he could feel from Jango.

"Elek, verd'ika," Jango said solemnly.

Obi-Wan held the glare a moment longer for emphasis before shuffling against the base of the workbench, taking a moment to maneuver the chain tethering his collar to the table so it wouldn't strangle him in his sleep. He flinched slightly as the cool metal touched his lacerated back, and hissed as the involuntary motion made his shoulder hurt again.

Jango politely waited for him to settle before shuffling over, adjusting the chains connected to his own manacles so the two could sit comfortably shoulder to shoulder. Obi-Wan hesitantly leaned against the man, and tentatively rested his head on Jango's shoulder when the man showed no sign of offense. He sighed, the warmth of another body pressing close comforting in the freezing belly of the slave ship.

"Nuhoy, verd'ika. Ni ja'haili'gar," Jango whispered as Obi-Wan closed his eyes to drift into an exhausted sleep.

-0-

Obi-Wan woke to the cracking of a whip. He jumped reflexively, and was surprised to feel the motion halted by Jango's arm resting across his shoulders. At some point in the night, he must have shifted to rest his head in the man's lap.

Force, that was embarrassing. He hadn't slept in someone's lap since he took the initiates' whites! "I'm sorry!" Obi-Wan blurted, voice coming out in barely a whisper from his dry throat.

"Nu'baatir," Jango rumbled softly, one hand gently playing with the tips of Obi-Wan's hair. "Ni ceta, but we've got to get up."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, nodded, and struggled to his feet, wavering slightly as the blood rushed from his head and darkened his vision for a moment.

The slaver's whip cracked and Obi-Wan stumbled into the workbench, surprised cry tearing its way from his lips as pain burst across his back. A burst of impotent rage filled the Force beside him, and Obi-Wan blinked through his blurry vision to see Jango glaring over Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"Stop slacking!" the slaver shouted behind him, whip raised threateningly.

"Sorry, master!" Obi-Wan rasped, ducking his head in a pathetic half-bow and slipping around to his workstation.

The whip cracked next to his hand, making Obi-Wan jump. "No talking," the slaver demanded.

Obi-Wan bit back his reflexive answer and quickly bowed over the ryll, crusher in position over the rock and weight pressing down on the brittle stone. Was he supposed to reply or acknowledge the order? He had no idea, but the malice and delight radiating from the slaver was unnerving.

His mind drifted while his body fell into the repetitive motions of his task. Grab ryll, crush ryll. Continue crushing ryll until the stone was a fine powder, dump powder into the collection area for further processing down the line.

It was almost like a moving meditation, but worse.

The last time he had participated in a moving meditation, his friends had been alongside him. Reeft had been worried about what they were serving for midmeal and Bant had been worried about his rapidly approaching birthday. Garen had been worried about the upcoming astronav exam, and he had been worried about making sure he completed the exercise flawlessly so the training masters would put in a good word with the padawan-less Knights. All their fears - so trivial compared to the very real fear Obi-Wan could feel creeping up his spine that _he wouldn't survive this._ That he would die on some no-name spice freighter in the vastness of space - had melted away in the warm wash of the Force and the steady lingering light of the thousands of Jedi who had come before them.

He had always known the Jedi Order sheltered their younglings and initiates from the horrors of the larger galaxy, but he had no idea just how horrific the galaxy was.

Force, he wished he could go back. Back to the Temple, back to the Order, back to _Bandomeer_ and the dead-end AgriCorps if it meant he was free of this place.

He had faith in the Force and in VeerTa. Someone would come looking for him. Right?

Oh, Force. _Please_ have someone come for him.

He thought he had made peace with death on that planet the Monument had crashed on. Now that death and despair surrounded him, pressed down on him, and constantly threatened to overwhelm him, he was less certain.

He was terrified.

The whip cracked again and Obi-Wan yelped in surprise as his back tore. Jango blazed with anger, and Obi-Wan had a brief flash of concern for the man. Didn't he know that much anger was unhealthy?

"Stop your daydreaming, whelp! What is this banthashit?" the slaver snarled, whip snapping a line just to the side and slightly overlapping the previous stroke. Obi-Wan yelped and felt tears escaping as his vision momentarily went dark.

"You think this is _okay?_ That this is _acceptable?"_ he demanded, one meaty palm gripping Obi-Wan's shoulder and twisting him around so they were nose-to-chest. Obi-Wan clenched his jaw to keep from screaming as the slaver's fingers dug into the blaster burn and made him see stars instead of the slaver's hideous mug. "A _fine_ powder, shithead. Fine! And smooth! Like a baby tooka's ass!" he shouted, punctuating each descriptor with a violent shake.

"Yes, master!" Obi-Wan squeaked, dizzy.

"Prove it!" the slaver demanded, roughly shoving Obi-Wan back into place.

The boy blinked furiously at the swimming ryll, fighting to keep his trembling to a minimum as he redoubled his efforts to grind the ore. He had thought the powder was plenty fine, but apparently not? He didn't think he could get it any finer, but he wasn't about to say that.

The slaver hovered menacingly for several long moments, the feel of his eyes making Obi-Wan's skin crawl. He lost track of how long he spent repeatedly grinding the crusher against the fine grit before the slaver stomped away, whip tapping ominously against his palm.

Obi-Wan risked a glance across the table to Jango before darting his eyes back to the unprocessed spice. The man was tense, lean muscle stiff and bulging and almost painful looking with how mercilessly he was crushing the ore. A thread of worry reignited in Obi-Wan's chest at the sight.

Jango had been a beacon of anger when the slaver had whipped him, but nowhere close to this level of furious. Was his inattentiveness the cause? Jango had been kind enough to bring him food and guard his sleep (even if he neglected to wake Obi-Wan for his own shift). Was he angry that Obi-Wan was throwing away his kindness so easily?

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan whispered, glancing at Jango through his lashes before flicking his gaze towards the slaver. The tattooed overseer was on the other end of the workbench, tormenting a human whose chain was too short for Obi-Wan to ever interact with. "I'll do better." You won't have to watch me fail.

Obi-Wan sensed Jango's brief attention and confusion before it morphed into a series of emotions flickering past too quickly for him to parse. The maelstrom settled into an oddly flavored anger? Disgust? Obi-Wan cringed.

Force, how the mighty have fallen. Incapable of something as simple as grinding a rock into dust, incapable of protecting the one person who had been nice to him, incapable of controlling his emotions…

"Not your fault," Jango hissed back fiercely, glaring intensely until Obi-Wan gave a hesitant nod, not of agreement but of at least acknowledgement. They both glanced down the length of the workbench as the whip cracked and a slave yelped.

They both knew the guard would be occupied for at least a few moments, if they could ignore the occasional scream.

"But you're angry," Obi-Wan stated.

"Not at you," Jango reassured, glaring in the general direction of the slaver. "I will _kyr'amur_ par kadala ad. Shuk kaysh. _Shukalar_ kaysh. Naastar kay buire nu'bayacir."

Obi-Wan grimaced, not understanding the words but certainly catching the tone. The crack of a whip on the other side of the room made Obi-Wan jump and hunch his shoulders, an action that set Jango scowling even deeper.

He was angry about the whipping, Obi-Wan realized. He was surprised to feel a small bloom of gratitude grow in his chest at the protective fury, and was immediately embarrassed. Fury was a bad emotion! He shouldn't feel _good_ about it.

Especially not from his friend. Yoda always said anger and fury only led to darkness, and Obi-Wan did not want Jango to suffer whatever that meant for a non-Jedi.

"It's okay," Obi-Wan whispered. "He can't really hurt me." Please don't hurt yourself because of me.

Jango scoffed.

"No, really! 'Luminous beings are we,'" Obi-Wan insisted with his bravest smile. "They can hurt me but they can't really hurt _me."_

Jango pinned him with a flat, unamused look, clearly disbelieving the boy. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the man's skepticism even as he internally cursed his poor articulation.

If he had been Master Jinn's padawan, he would have been able to fix that. Master Jinn was one of the Order's best diplomats, and under his tutelage Obi-Wan could have earned a similar distinction. Now…?

"What did I say about day dreaming, karking kung?" the guard shouted, whip cracking down across Obi-Wan's back.

Obi-Wan screamed as the tip of the whip caught the top of his injured shoulder and wrapped around to lick the charred center of his blaster burn. He dimly felt his legs collapse as his vision whited out, arms banging into the durasteel workbench on his way down.

There was more shouting around him, but Obi-Wan could hardly understand it as his world narrowed down to screaming pain and the repeated, horrible cracking of the whip.

He could only feel relief as the sound of blood pounding in his ears finally drowned out the distant sound of yelling. When darkness crept over his vision, he happily embraced it and followed it into unconsciousness.

-0-

Jango gently stroked the boy's dirty hair as the child stirred in his lap, taking great care to keep calm and level no matter how much he wanted to rage and kill. It did not take a genius to notice how the kid reacted to strong emotions - the kid had started outright _whimpering_ when Jango fantasized of all the ways he would rend that duraanla hut'uun demagolka limb from limb, how Jango would tear the whip from the overseer's hand and slash his body open until his blood and guts and viscera washed away the blood that dar'manda aruetii had torn from Obi-Wan - and settled whenever Jango calmed himself.

The boy was likely Force sensitive - which only brought up a thousand other questions - but that was hardly the most pressing issue of the day.

No, far more pressing was the fact that this could not continue for long.

The overseer always picked on new slaves. Jango had seen it with the twilek who had stood in Obi-Wan's place for a few weeks before spice, starvation, blood loss, and infection had killed him. Hells, Jango had experienced it for himself when he had first been sold to this ship. Even now, months later, he could feel the whip marks pulling if he twisted wrong.

But he had been a fully grown adult while Obi-Wan was…

Well, Jango wasn't sure what age Obi-Wan was, but he knew the kid had a long way to grow. How much blood could a child lose before they started suffering for it? How much spice could their bodies process before they started shutting down? How many calories could they fail to consume before their growth was permanently stunted?

These were hardly things he had learned from his parents on Concord Dawn or with Jaster's True Mandalorians, and these were hardly things he ever _wanted_ to learn - especially from experience.

At the very least he knew basic field medicine and had a smidgen of sense. It hardly took an ori'ramikad to know not to let a person, let alone a prepubescent one, rub their face or lacerated back in pre-processed spice dust.

It had been too easy, too natural, to carefully (so carefully, the kid's grey tunic was splotchy with blood where it wasn't torn to shreds) pull the kid into his lap after Jango had gathered their food. The kid had all but fallen off Jango's shoulder and into his lap that first night, and seemed to find the position comforting.

It was sweet, and reminded Jango of happier days, of training until he was sweaty and tired and had collapsed with Arla under the big tree next to their parents' farm. It made him miss hand-to-hand with Silas and how Jaster would drag him off to clean up before they relaxed with a datapad and a list of potential contracts.

But these were far from happy days, he knew as he had carefully torn strips from the sleeves of their tunics. He was powerless here, unable to even get clean kriffing bandages for a kid in need.

The kid was strong, though. Prone to daydreaming, true (and Jango would not be surprised if that was some weird Force coping mechanism), but he had a beskar spine and a roaring inferno in his soul. Obi-Wan would recover as long as his body survived.

His melancholy thoughts must have disturbed the kid as Obi-Wan shuffled slightly, hand twitching against Jango's thigh. "Shh, udesii, ad'ika," Jango murmured, glancing towards the ladder out of the slave pit. They still had time before the overseer arrived. "Nuhoy."

Obi-Wan made a protesting sound and shifted some more, eyelids flickering as he woke. Jango ran his hand across the boy's hair in a soothing caress. "Nuhoy, ad'ika," he hummed, the beginnings of a Mando'a lullaby on his lips.

"Nnnnnno," the kid slurred, turning to press his face against Jango's leg. He groaned as he came awake, body twisting to rise.

Jango caught his shoulder, holding him steady and keeping him from rubbing his bandaged back in the spice grit on the floor. "Don't move or you'll hurt yourself," he warned, feeling the boy's body tense as feeling returned. The kid whimpered softly, pain finally registering.

"Wha' happened?" he asked as he gingerly pushed himself off Jango's lap and into a sitting position. Jango let him move, hands hovering at the ready to steady the kid if he wavered.

"That demagolka whipped you until you passed out. I did what I could after that," Jango replied evenly, watching the boy carefully for any signs of distress. "How are you feeling?"

"Hurts. 'Nd m' thr't's dry," Obi-Wan whispered, hand reaching up to massage his throat and finding the explosive collar instead. The kid dropped his hand like it was burned.

Jango grimaced. "You inhaled some ryll dust before I was able to pull you off the ground. I gave you what broth I could, but," Jango trailed off with another grimace.

"They don' feed slackers," Obi-Wan guessed with an answering grimace. Jango hummed in agreement and the two sat there for a long moment, eyes tracing the ryll trails on the deck. "You shouldn' have given me your soup."

"And why's that?" Jango asked with a pinched frown.

"'Cause you need it more," the boy replied like Jango was being particularly thick-headed. Jango knew he was scowling as the boy hastened to elaborate. "You're starving too."

"Ah, but I'm done growing, ner kotepla verd'ika. You can't skip meals if you want to grow up big and strong," Jango argued, poking Obi-Wan in the stomach. The kid huffed and glared, and Jango belatedly realized that kind of prodding was probably too immature for Obi-Wan. Ka'ra, children grew up too fast. "It was my choice," he stated firmly.

Obi-Wan pouted, arguments clearly brewing behind those grey eyes.

"No," Jango protested. "Ner runi bal ka'ra oyu'baat ven'ash'amur before you stop me from making that choice. Haat, ijaa, haa'it."

"'Haat, ijaa, haa'it,'" Obi-Wan repeated thoughtfully, and Jango couldn't help the way his lips twitched in a smile as something warm and happy uncurled in his chest. Mando'a bal Mand'alor, an vencuyan mhi. "What language is that?"

"Mando'a," Jango answered.

"Like the language of the Mandalorians?" Obi-Wan asked, a spark of boyish excitement entering his eyes. "Are _you_ a Mandalorian?"

Jango chuckled, well aware of the place Mandalorians had in childhood games and stories. Mandalorians and pirates, the incongruously friendly terrors of playgrounds across the galaxy. "'Lek, verd'ika. I'm Mand'alor be Haat Mando'ade Jango Fett. That is, I'm Mand'alor - the leader - of the True Mandalorians," or I was, before the Jedi murdered us all, he thought but didn't say, good mood cut down like so many loyal commandos on Galidraan.

Obi-Wan's face fell, clearly sensing his falling mood. He fidgeted uncomfortably for several moments before shyly asking, "'Lek' means 'yes?'" At Jango's nod, Obi-Wan continued, "And the other things you were saying? 'Verd'ika' and um, 'ner runi' um…"

"Ner runi bal ka'ra oyu'baat ven'ash'amur?" Jango filled in, taking care to enunciate each word clearly and nodding in approval when Obi-Wan mimicked the lengthy phrase correctly. "You're good at this," he praised, smiling as the boy all but glowed in response. "It's a very intense way of saying 'no way.'"

Obi-Wan looked thoughtful, lips moving silently as he repeated the phrase a few more times, clearly committing it to memory. After a few repetitions, a mischievous look crossed his face. "What if I wanted to say 'try and stop me?'"

Jango frowned, moving to grip Obi-Wan's hands tightly. The cold extremities were stiff and swollen, fingers frozen around an invisible crusher, and Jango had to push down the anger that invoked. He tugged gently to get the boy's full attention.

"Don't fight me," he asked. "Please," not on this. Not when watching him suffer and die would take what tattered bits of Jango's heart and soul survived and rip them to shreds.

It was enough of a miracle he had survived Galidraan. He wasn't sure he would - could - survive losing another vod.

Obi-Wan's breath hitched, eyes darting across the set of Jango's shoulders and the pleading look on his face. "Okay," he whispered, voice cracking before continuing in a stronger voice. "'Lek, but… promise me you'll take care of yourself too. I can't-- I don't know what I'd do if…" he trailed off so Jango couldn't make out his last words, though he could make a few guesses.

"Haat, ijaa, haa'it," Jango promised.

He was ready to explain that phrase when booming footsteps overhead drew their attention. Jango grimaced, squeezing Obi-Wan's hands before he rose to his feet. "Koter," he urged softly as he helped the trembling boy up as well. "Be strong and be brave. We'll get through this."

A brief flash of panic crossed Obi-Wan's face as the sound of the overseer descending the ladder clanged through the room, rousing the other slaves. The boy breathed deep, squared his shoulders, met his gaze, and nodded tersely.

They would get through this.

They had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm now on tumblr as sometimes-i-right! I don't really post there much, but I'm always happy to hear from people. If there's interest, I may start posting some of the various side notes, comments, and thoughts I have while writing to tumblr. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Mand'alor bal Kaysh Vod'ika = the Mand'alor (sole ruler/leader) and his little brother  
> Nuhoy, verd'ika. Ni ja'haili'gar = sleep, little soldier. I will watch over you (from a Mando'a lullaby, original words by tumblr user punsandbulletsandpointythings)  
> Nu'baatir = [I] do not care (lit.). Jango is dismissing Obi-Wan's apology because it's a dumb apology  
> Ni ceta = I'm sorry  
> Elek = Yes  
> Verd'ika = Little soldier/general term of endearment for others (especially younger)  
> Duraanla = hold in contempt, but in adjective form. Ie, despicable  
> Hut'uun = coward  
> Demagolka = child-killer/worst insult you can have in Mando'a  
> Dar'manda aruetii = soulless outsider, an expression of how far from Mandalorian this person is  
> Kyr'amur par kadala ad = kill him for hurting a child  
> Shuk kaysh. Shukalar kaysh. Naastar kay buire nu'bayacir = Rend him. Crush him. Destroy him until his parents do not recognize him.  
> Ori'ramikad = supercommando  
> Udesii = calm down  
> Ad'ika = affectionate term for child  
> Nuhoy = sleep  
> Ner kotepla verd'ika = my brave little soldier  
> Ka'ra = stars  
> Ner runi bal ka'ra oyu'baat ven'ash'amur = My soul and all the stars in the galaxy will die  
> Haat, ijaa, haa'it = truth, honor, vision. Formal words to seal a pact  
> Mando'a bal Mand'alor, an vencuyan mhi = Mando'a and the Mand'alor, all help us survive. The last two lines of the Resol'nare (the 6 tenants of Mandalorian life)  
> Koter = be brave. Kot (strength) becomes kotir (defeat/overpower/to-strength). Most words stemming from "kot" are closer to strength than bravery, so I used koter (from kotep, brave) instead.
> 
> Huttese:  
> Karking = derogatory modifier, ie. [expletive]-ing  
> Kung = scum


	2. A Pirate's Life for Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. I love all of you who have left kudos or comments or bookmarked or even just read and enjoyed this story. Please know, if I don't respond to your comment, it's not because I didn't read it. I read and deeply appreciate every comment and kudo; they really do help me feel good and worthy when cripplingly low self-esteem creeps in. If I don't respond to your comment, please know it is because I:  
>  1\. don't know what to say, and/or  
>  2\. don't want the comment stats to be deceptive  
> So thank you all for taking the time to read my writing. It takes a lot of time and effort to write, and it's good to know my work is appreciated.

Hondo Ohnaka considered himself a lot of things: clever, devious, intelligent, ruthless, and handsome being just a handful of the many illustrious descriptors he preferred. He liked to believe himself fair and generous with his crew and loyal to his dearest mother, though he never dreamed of asking any of those individuals if those assessments rang true. 

Not that he needed to ask what his mother thought of him. She was always able to make her opinion quite clear on the matter (and every other matter that, well, mattered). 

Regardless! Hondo Ohnaka was the greatest pirate the galaxy had yet to see, and he was determined to prove it. 

"Are we ready, men?" he asked, gesturing broadly towards the empty star field and nearly clocking his pilot in the head. 

"Yes, sir!" Parsel, the only crew member present, shouted enthusiastically. 

"Then it is time we set up our welcome," Hondo ordered, smiling as the emergency beacon light clicked on. "Man the bridge. Let me know the moment anyone drops into our trap." 

"Of course, sir!" the pilot agreed before grabbing his cup and relaxing into his seat for a long watch. 

Hondo saluted with his own grog, took a hearty swig, and carefully extracted himself from the cramped copilot seat. He had to take extra care not to trip over the cables someone (likely Parsel) had left stretched across the narrow aisle, and took a brief moment to check the mini still tucked against the bulkhead. They would need to bottle the latest batch soon. 

Despite what some of his former contemporaries may say, Hondo was not an idiot. He was well aware that calling his freighter a ship and the cockpit a bridge could be considered stretching the definitions of both words, but his dearest mother had always taught him to dream big and talk bigger. And just like his mother had taught him, any who dared call him out for such trivialities tended to become quite… former. 

He saluted his trusty lieutenant on his way to the galley and flopped down on the crash bench adjacent to the dejarik table, setting his mug down on the center tile. Sabo merely grunted at the greeting, too busy rifling around the cabinets for anything that could pass as grub. 

Joke was on him. They were down to nutriyeast and protein powder. Hopefully whatever ship fell for the ol' bait and jump would come well stocked with food and valuables. 

Hondo sipped his vivid green grog, relishing the burn, and flipped on his datapad. He didn't have any specific work to do - not that he would tell the men. He had an image as a benevolent, if busy, captain to maintain! - but it never hurt to stay up-to-date on the latest gossip. One day it may even be profitable. 

He was flipping past some story of a mine blowing up on some dustball outer rim world when Parsel shouted, "Sir! A ship just dropped outta hyperspace!" 

"Oh, come on," Hondo protested loudly enough his whole crew would hear even if they were deaf and dumb, rolling his eyes. "How many times must I tell you? Use your commlinks to send messages!" 

Hondo's commlink immediately pinged and crackled to life. "Of course, sir!" Parsel's replied, his words repeated a half second later through the commlink's tinny speakers. "How should we proceed?" 

Hondo caught Sabo's eye and nodded, a Quay-may-care smile stretching across his leathery face. The older weequay grinned back with too many teeth, hands automatically patting the blaster holstered at his hip. "Are they approaching?" 

"Yes, sir!" Parsel answered, excitement evident in his tone. 

"Size of the ship?" 

"Small class. Good size for, I don't know, thirty souls?" Parsel guessed. 

Thirty souls versus three pirates? They could handle that, or he wasn't Hondo Ohnaka, the greatest pirate in the galaxy. 

"Then prepare the welcoming party!" Hondo ordered jovially, swinging himself to his feet. "Sabo, gear up for external breach. Parsel, prepare the docking bay." 

His crew members shouted their agreement, and Hondo rubbed his hands in anticipation. He hurried (not raced, he was far too professional for that) to his quarters and gathered his boarding supplies before joining his steady lieutenant at the hatch. 

Their commlinks crackled to life. "We're being hailed, captain!" Parsel reported "Patching you through," he said before Hondo had more time than splutter in response. 

Luckily Hondo was far too adaptable to let something as trivial as overeager comms officers ruin his game. He was a smooth criminal, a fast-talking charmer, a legendary pirate-- 

A blue figure sprang up from the commlink in Hondo's hand. "Uh, what is the… nnn-nature? Nature. Of your e-mer-gen-cy?" a thickly muscled human male asked slowly, clearly struggling to read from a script. 

"Oh, it's a tragedy!" Hondo wailed, throwing his hand across his forehead like a damsel from a pulp holonovella. Sabo, reliable weequay that he was, identified the signal to start the mission and slipped out the airlock, ion disruptor tied to his belt. "I don't know what we're going to do!" 

The musclehead blinked dumbly before a skinny elbow darted into frame to jab the human in the ribs. "Uh… okay?" 

"My ship! Oh my poor ship! Our hyperdrive failed, and now we have no way to get this giant stack of credits back home!" Hondo moaned, delighting at the look of naked greed that crossed musclehead's face at the blatant lie. "And the _wine!_ Two hundred bottles of Alderaan's finest can't survive space for long. Please, you _must_ help us, before our goods spoil." 

"Of course we'll help!" Musclehead promised, trading excited looks with someone - probably Skinny - just out of holo range. Hondo could only watch in fascination as a whole conversation played out across Musclehead's face \- humans were so _expressive_ with their squishy faces - before Musclehead dejectedly slumped his way out of projector range. 

A new human took Musclehead's place. This man was rakishly thin, with long hair hanging limply around his narrow face. A wicked intelligence shone from his eyes as he scowled at Hondo. 

"I need evidence. You don't look like a merchant ship," Skinny accused. 

Hondo gasped in outrage, clutching at his chest as if Skinny had slipped a knife through his breastbone. "I shall pretend you did not insult me, friend. My ship is carrying legitimate goods. I can procure the manifest and Alderaan merchant seal if that makes you feel better," he promised sullenly, as if the mere thought of such a stain on his honor was a grave insult. 

Skinny glared at Hondo for several tense moments before his face split into a smile. "That won't be necessary," he stated. "I've got quite a few men on my ship. How about you come over with a few bottles and I'll send my mechanic over to get your hyperdrive back in order." 

Hondo smiled widely. "Oh thank you, thank you!" he said happily, all grateful joviality again before cutting the signal short. 

He rang Parsel and Sabo, happy for once that his minimal crew was small enough he could have free conference calls. "Parsel, prepare for docking and a few new friends. Sabo, status?" 

"Fifteen minutes," the older weequay stated. Hondo ran a few quick mental calculations as he settled in to wait for the two ships to dock. It would take at least that long for the ships to finish connecting and pressure to equalize. 

The two ships docked smoothly, and Hondo pulled open his half of the airlock to reveal an ughnaught in a dirty jumpsuit flanked by a snarly pink twilek and a bored looking trandoshan. 

"Friends! Thank you so much for your assistance," Hondo simpered, arms flung wide as if to hug the motley crew. The ughnaught sneered and ducked under Hondo's arms to step on board. Hondo magnanimously ignored the rudeness with a wide smile. "My pilot will direct you to our engine room. I believe I have a meeting with your captain." 

Parsel glared menacingly. The ughnaught and his escort seemed to approve of the surly silence, and Hondo watched them vanish into the bowels of his ship and the traps they had set up in the engine compartment. 

Smiling widely, Hondo turned and stepped onto the larger ship, crate of innocuous green bottles clutched in his arms. "Permission to come aboard?" he called half-mockingly. 

"You bring the wine?" Skinny demanded. "Mm, good. Follow me. It's been far too long since we've had any decent booze on board." 

"Of course. And it is only my pleasure to share with such wonderful new friends," Hondo effused, taking care to step around the gaping hole in the decking. Honestly, did these people not know to cover such things? Someone could fall in and then what would happen to all the booze? 

They walked through the dirty ship to settle in a cramped galley. A half dozen rough-looking spacers eyed Hondo and the crate he carried like fresh merquay meat, and Hondo smiled welcomingly as he fished out the first bottle. Mugs appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as quickly as the crew of this ship eagerly drank themselves into a stupor. 

"To new friends!" Hondo shouted, toasting the stars. A rallying cry rose up from the assembled crew and Skinny smashed his drink against Hondo's before taking a deep swig. If he had brought real Alderaanian wine, Hondo would have mourned the drinking ritual spilling expensive booze over the dusty deck. 

Fortunately enough, Hondo had never set his leathery paws on such a valuable treat in his life. 

"That is foul!" Skinny accused, face screwed up at the burn. 

"Oh no, my friend. That is the taste of sophistication!" Hondo cheerfully corrected, pouring himself another mug of bootlegged grog and topping up Skinny's half finished cup. 

"Thems Alderaani pon-- ponce-- faffs 're stronger than we thought, boss," a short human boomed. Hondo blinked in surprise at the deep voice coming from such a tiny frame before going back to his drink. Humans were weird. 

They polished off the first three bottles in record time, and Hondo was privately impressed. He had not expected the inferior livers of most sentients to be able to hold up against a weequay's finest. Ah well, if they somehow finished the last two bottles Hondo brought, he would have to go back and raid the rest of the grog stash. 

Hopefully this ship had enough valuables to make the lost booze worthwhile. 

The commlink on Hondo's wrist flashed twice, the signal from Parsel that the repair crew was incapacitated. Hondo glanced around the galley, taking note of the ruddy cheeks, slurring words, and drooping eyelids. He took another swig, using the motion to disguise his own outgoing signal. 

The overhead lights flickered and died, only to be immediately replaced by dull red emergency lighting as Sabo's disruptor wiped out bridge power. The more drunken sods blinked in confusion, staring at the lights as if they would sprout mouths and explain why the power vanished. 

"Those no good karking kung shag karkers. What is Incer _doing?_ " Skinny growled, slamming his cup on the table and swaying to his feet. 

"Peace, friend!" Hondo soothed, rising to his own feet. "I'm sure this is just a hiccup. A little blip. It will work itself out!" While we rob you blind, he neglected to state. 

"Outta my way, bug face," Skinny spat as he pushed past, and oh if that didn't cross a line. 

Hondo had gotten his beautiful face from his dearest mother. No one was allowed to insult his mother! 

The weequay waited until Skinny was completely past before drawing his blaster and firing in one smooth motion. Before the corpse could hit the ground, Hondo was moving, firing at the drunken crew indiscriminately. A few of the more sober spacers scrambled for weapons and cover wherever they could find it, and Hondo blasted the trandoshan one of the humans were using as a shield without batting an eye. 

He took a half second to hit his commlink, letting the sounds of his blaster tell his crew exactly what was going on, and then the ship descended (even further) into chaos. 

-0- 

The ship shuddered out of hyperspace, but Jango did not allow himself to slow his work in the slightest. Despite the brave face, Obi-Wan was suffering from his beatings and it showed in his sluggish movements and poorly hidden grimaces. Jango had been forced to use all his hard-learned negotiation lessons to convince the overseer to allow Jango to take on Obi-Wan's slack and save the kid another whipping. 

Of course, Jango's own back was now marked for every tray the overseer decided was too light or too empty or not crushed enough or simply because the overseer was a mean shabuir, but Jango preferred it that way. It was better that he take the whip than this kid. 

The kid disagreed - that much was obvious from how he hovered and the absolutely shattered look the kid had worn that first time. Jango had gingerly taught the kid how to wrap the wounds and let the kid cling to him as they settled for the night. 

Obi-Wan had insisted on taking watch and Jango had been tired enough to agree, though he had still forced himself awake earlier than his body wanted. The kid had been lightly dozing - meditating, Obi-Wan had corrected him that night - in his lap, instantly alert when Jango had twitched awake. Jango had been impressed and a little heartbroken at the reflex. 

He had the sinking feeling that the whip wouldn't kill Obi-Wan anymore, but watching Jango be whipped on his behalf would crush his mandokarla spirit like nothing else had. 

After a week of extra work, his arms ached like they hadn't since his earliest days aboard the spice freighter. Jango pushed past the pain with all the bullheadedness that Jaster and Myles had spent years complaining about. 

He had a mission now, and he would be damned if something as trivial as muscle aches kept him from completing it. 

The whip cracked on the far side of the room, making both Obi-Wan and Jango flinch. Jango risked a quick glance down the length of the workbench before offering a small reassuring smile to the kid. The kid gave a minute shake of his head and pointedly reapplied himself to his crushing, Jango following suit. 

The kid had stopped whispering while they worked four days ago, clearly fearing the whip Jango took for their insolence. 

They worked silently, the repetitive crunching of ryll ore into ryll powder fading into background noise. The overseer stomping up and down the workbench, whip cracking occasionally, marked the time, though the unsteady pace made precise timekeeping impossible. 

Jango was just reaching for a new chunk of ore when the dim overhead lights flickered and died. Ominous red emergency lights clicked on, bathing the slave pit in bloody light and deep shadow. Up and down the row, slaves froze, not sure what to do in the unfamiliar environment. 

"The kriff is that?" the overseer muttered, gravelly voice clearly audible across the silent room. "The kriff you all doing, shag? Get back to work!" he roared, whip snapping out to draw a scream from the human next to Jango. 

Jango flinched and finished grabbing the ryll ore. A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye followed by a yip snapped Jango's attention across the table. Obi-Wan scrambled for his crusher, a new line barely visible across his forearm. "Back to work!" the overseer repeated, arm drawing back to lash out at Jango. 

Obi-Wan's eyes flashed, his face twisting into something alight with beautiful vengeance, and thrust one hand out with a wordless shout. The overseer went flying, slamming against the bulkhead with a heavy thud. 

Jango twisted back to see Obi-Wan panting heavily, crusher still clenched in one hand. A thousand questions ran through Jango's mind - what was that? Why wait until now to use it? Why not kill the overseer before the kid had _nearly kriffing died?_

"It's-- it's no longer buzzing," Obi-Wan answered disjointedly, crusher raised to slam against the chain linking his collar to the workbench. Jango's confusion must have been palpable because Obi-Wan clarified a moment later. "The bomb. On the collar? It's no longer buzzing. I think whatever took out power also took out the transmitter. And… there's a lot of people dying above us." 

He could work with that, he decided as he clutched his own crusher and brought it down on his chains. Rage and adrenaline leant him strength as he smashed the durasteel apart. He could hear other freeborn doing the same over the sounds of the slaveborns' scared protests. 

The moment he was free, he slipped around to the other side to finish breaking Obi-Wan's chains. The kid was a lot of things, but Jango probably had a hundred pounds on him and the thin rations had not done any favors to the boy. 

  
"Let's go," Jango said, hand gentle across Obi-Wan's shoulder blade. The kid nodded tensely and started towards the ladder when his breath hitched and his steps faltered. Jango followed the kid's gaze, eyes tracing over the dent the overseer had made when he slammed into the thin bulkhead. 

Jango crossed to the corpse in a few long strides, taking care to keep his body between the overseer and Obi-Wan before roughly repositioning the slumped form with his foot. He patted over the spacer's jacket, withdrawing a couple packets of fully processed ryll powder, a pocket shiv, some credit chips, and the slaver's whip. "Good call," he praised, ignoring the way the kid's expression twisted in exasperation at Jango's intentional misunderstanding. 

He passed the pocket shiv over, and smiled when the boy accepted. He would have preferred a longer knife - or even better, a blaster - but any weapon was better than no weapon, and he wasn't about to hand the kid the whip. 

They had to wait for the zabrak to finish climbing the ladder before they could begin their own ascent. Jango went first, instinctively ducking at the sound of a blaster firing and footsteps racing away. The acrid stench of burnt flesh wafted down the hatch, and Jango grimaced as he poked his head above the decking to see the zabrak, dead. He scanned the landing and ducked as a spacer emerged from a nearby passage, blaster firing down the hall he had just stumbled from. 

The spacer made the mistake of straying too close to the hatch. Jango lunged, tackling the man around the knees and sending the spacer crashing to the deck with an oomph of escaping air. The man blinked dumbly at him for a moment before recognition (on both sides) set in. 

Jango saw red. This was the same man who had led him away in chains from that shabla hut'uunla Galidraaniila alor. 

"Please! Pirates! Help us, slave, and you'll be a free man!" the man begged, fearful. 

Jango slammed one fist into the man's nose with a satisfying, bloody crack. "What do you think I am?" he asked rhetorically while the slaver howled in pain. He wrenched the man's blaster from his lax grip and shot the man point blank between the eyes, plus an extra shot for his own bloody satisfaction. 

Shabla hut'uun. 

The sound of footsteps behind him had Jango whirling on the spot. Obi-Wan gingerly pulled himself up the ladder, grey eyes flitting across the scene before landing on Jango. 

"Ke'nari," Jango ordered, hastily pointing his blaster away. "Let's move. He said there were pirates, which means we have our escape route." 

Obi-Wan took a shuddering breath, eyes slipping closed. His brow pinched as he stated, "There are small firefights taking place throughout the ship. I've lost track of the others." 

"The others?" 

Obi-Wan grimaced, gaze darting back towards the pit he had just crawled out of, "The other…" he gestured vaguely towards his throat and the pit. 

Jango nodded, took a deep breath, and straightened. He was Haat'ad. He was _Mand'alor_. Obi-Wan needed him right now, and as much as he may personally distrust weird Force shit, it was a possible advantage they could not afford to ignore. 

"Can you sense the cockpit? Or any escape pods with hyperspace capability?" 

Obi-Wan gave Jango a look like he was dumb before petulantly stating, "It doesn't work that way." 

Jango grunted, glancing up and down the hall. "Keep _that_ going," he ordered, trusting the kid to understand, "and let me know if anyone approaches. Stay close. If we get in a firefight, stay behind me." 

The kid reluctantly agreed, and Jango took off in the direction the slaver had been fleeing towards. The sounds of blasterfire and people running echoed strangely through the ship, making it difficult for Jango to track potential hostiles. He scowled, missing his armor and its sensor suite terribly. 

Obi-Wan shouted in surprise, hand snapping out to grab Jango's tunic and tug, pulling him short right as a weequay erupted into the hall alongside a hail of blasterfire. Several humans - slavers, judging by the familiar scalp tattoos - followed with a war cry. 

Jango crouched, blaster snapping up as he began picking off the humans. 

The weequay wasted no time darting towards Jango, clearly intending to take cover behind a convenient meat shield. Jango growled, backing up so he pushed Obi-Wan towards the wall, and pointed his blaster at the interloper. 

"Easy, easy!" the weequay protested, quickly twisting so his back was against the opposite bulkhead. "I'm not gonna hurt you." 

Jango eyed him skeptically, but a twilek slaver had poked his wrinkled face around the corner and opened fire, successfully distracting the Mandalorian. He felt Obi-Wan moving behind him, but the twilek was back (with buddies) and Jango couldn't spare a moment to check on him. 

At least the weequay was also shooting at the slavers. Which likely meant he was one of the pirates. 

"Hey!" the pirate shouted as a lucky shot took the twilek out. Jango turned at the sound of hasty footsteps, shifting automatically to protect Obi-Wan as the kid ran back towards him. 

The weequay glared, one leathery hand patting a hidden (and now empty) holster. "That was quite impressive, my young friend!" the weequay declared magnanimously. "Stealing a blaster from the great pirate Hondo Ohnaka? You have skills!" 

Jango took out a rodian before risking a glance at Obi-Wan. The kid was pointedly not looking at the weequay as he grimly lined up a shot, forcing another human to duck behind the wall. 

He couldn't help the snort or the swell of pride. 

Ka _'ra_ this kid would need armor soon. 

Later. They still had to get off this ship. Then he could imagine Ob'ika wearing beskar'gam like he was born for it. 

"And he won't even say anything! Oh, this galaxy is too cruel," the weequay moaned. "Hey, big guy, want to get your buddy to talk to me? He could join my crew. Imagine the profits!" 

Jango shot the last human clean between the eyes and glared at the weequay, blaster drifting towards the pirate. 

"Of course, you could join as well. Your skills with a blaster would be welcome," Hondo hastily assured. "What do you say? You saved the life of Hondo Ohnaka. Now you could become rich with Hondo Ohnaka!" 

"Does Hondo Ohnaka ever stop talking about himself in third person?" Obi-Wan muttered, and Jango felt his lips twitch. 

"One job," Jango stated, glaring at the pirate before glancing around the ship for more hostiles. "We saved your life, you get us off this ship. I have something I need to do, which you will bring me to, and then we will do one job." 

The weequay frowned, eyes darting across their frames and landing on the collar resting around Obi-Wan's throat. Jango growled and shifted so the kid was further blocked from view. "Transport off this ship for your help," he agreed. "But no favors. Mama Ohnaka always said favors are just delayed payments, and those aren't profitable." 

"I could kill you and steal your ship," Jango said coldly, ignoring Obi-Wan's soft gasp. 

"The kid stays while you're doing your something. Hondo never does favors. I need insurance." 

"No. The kid stays with me," Jango stated, possessiveness and protectiveness rising in his chest. "You may… accompany us on my task," he compromised, distasteful as the thought was. 

As satisfying as it would be to put that shabla hut'uunla alor in his place solo, the extra manpower could prove useful. And there was no way in hell he was leaving Obi-Wan with some unknown pirate scum. 

"Transport off this ship, one job for you, and one job for me. Agreed. You get five percent of the haul," the weequay stated. 

"Fifteen." 

"Ten." 

"Fifteen. There are two of us," Jango stated. 

"Thirteen. I have an operation to run, mouths to feed, fuel to burn, and the kid's still a kid," Hondo argued. 

"The kid's a better shot than you. Thirteen, including a cut from this job." 

"Then I get forty off your job." 

"Agreed," Jango said, thrusting one hand out for the pirate to shake. He hadn't been planning on raiding wherever the governor was keeping his armor, but if Hondo wanted to do extra legwork and pay Jango for the trouble, he wasn't about to protest. 

"Can we _go_ now? There are more people coming up behind us," Obi-Wan whined, shifting nervously. 

Jango and Hondo exchanged looks over their clasped hands. The pirate smiled widely and fumbled at his commlink for a moment. 

"Parsel, Sabo, do we have the goods?" he asked. 

A tinny voice hissed from the low quality device, smearing and artifacting with distance. "We got it, boss. Nearly a hundred kilos. Sabo's getting it all loaded up right now." 

"We'll be back at the ship in five," the weequay said before cutting the link off and addressing his new contractors. "Follow me." 

They made good time, now that they had a guide leading them through the twisting spice freighter, and Jango only had to shoot another two slavers on their way out. Hondo was positively giddy by the time they reached the docking hatch, loudly welcoming them aboard and shouting for Parsel to take them into hyperspace. 

Hondo proudly showed them their quarters - a cramped, narrow room with two slender bunks set against opposing walls - and gave Jango a significant look as he left them alone. Obi-Wan moved like a child possessed as he all but collapsed on the nearest bunk face first. 

As tempting as it was to follow the kid's example, there were some things Jango had to do first. 

Then he could relax (a little). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a  
> Shabuir = motherfucker  
> Mandokarla = having the right stuff, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue  
> Shabla hut'uunla Galidraaniila alor = screwed up (impolite, ie "fucking") cowardly Galidraan governor. I'm using "Galidraanii" for Galidraan because 1) there is no canon/legends Galidraan in Mando'a and 2) the -ii helps convey a certain amount of outside-ness and loathing that seems fitting for this situation  
> Shabla hut'uun = fucking coward  
> Ke'nari = move (order)  
> Shabla hut'uunla alor = fucking cowardly leader
> 
> Huttese  
> Karking kung shag karkers = "derogatory modifier" scum slave "derogatory word". Does this sentence even make sense? No, but Skinny is drunk and mixing languages
> 
> If there are improvements to either conlang, please let me know. I'm still learning :)
> 
> Parsel and Sabo have wookiepedia pages, but I took some creative liberties with their characterizations based on the scant details.


	3. Bitter Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this before I lose my nerve. Special thanks to ardent_cheshire in the subobi discord for helping me wrap my head around Jango's conflict.
> 
> For the conversation between Jango and Obi-Wan, text in italics represents Mando'a. It really ruined the flow to have to scroll for translations.

Obi-Wan was having a pleasant dream. He had no idea what the dream was about - the details were already fading from his slowly waking brain - but he knew he didn't want to leave it. 

He was warm and happy, comfortable and safe. He burrowed his face in his warm, only slightly squishy pillow, and sighed as his pillow wrapped warm arms around him. 

This was wonderful. 

A clang somewhere over his head jerked Obi-Wan awake. He twisted to his feet, shoulders hunching against the whip, and shouted in alarm when he didn't immediately feel the floor, legs flailing and folding beneath him. 

He blinked in surprise from where he lay sprawled across the (not dusty) ground, just making out the sleeping bunk he had apparently been resting on. Jango was sitting on the bunk, blaster pointed at the door, tense and anxious. 

That's right. They had broken out, and now they were with a bunch of pirates. 

"Ob'ika?" Jango asked, blaster never wavering from the door. 

Obi-Wan flushed. He had been disoriented and jumpy for no reason. This wasn't a Force thing, just him being stupid. 

"It's fine. Everything's fine," Obi-Wan answered, and Jango immediately tucked the blaster away. Obi-Wan wanted to turn away when he froze, staring at his friend's face, something familiar about it tickling the back of his mind. "Your beard's gone." 

"Is it? I hadn't noticed," Jango drawled sarcastically, hand rising to pat his clean shaven chin and close cropped hair. The hair wasn't the only thing missing, Obi-Wan realized, as he studied Jango. The thick layer of grime and the manacles were gone, and he wore an unfamiliar (but clean) set of clothes. 

A quick check revealed his own collar was missing. "Did you take it off?" Obi-Wan asked, fingers probing at a layer of bandages where his skin had chaffed and blistered under the durasteel edges. 

"Yes, I figured you wouldn't want to wait," Jango answered. "Hondo provided some tools and I broke the latch open. You woke up briefly, but I don't think you were fully aware." 

He wasn't wrong there. As far as Obi-Wan knew, he had slept like the dead from the moment his face hit the bunk. 

"Hondo showed me the fresher and medbay. Would you like to get clean as well?" Jango asked. 

" _Force_ yes," Obi-Wan blurted out, not even caring when Jango laughed. 

The sonics weren't as nice as a real water shower, but Obi-Wan would have settled for a wet rag in a dirty stream. His skin felt clammy and gross where streaks of old sweat and dirt hadn't been wiped away for the careful application of clean bandages. 

It had to have been Jango's doing. He thought he could recognize his friend's handiwork. 

He was surprisingly okay with the thought of Jango treating his wounds. Unlike the Healers, Jango didn't feel the need to lecture him for every bump and scrape he treated, and the warm attention did not feel half as cloying as it did in the Temple. 

Part of him was actually looking forward to the chance to spend time with the man. 

Hopefully the feeling was mutual. Jango hadn't given any hints that he didn't like Obi-Wan - had actually been rather insistent Obi-Wan stayed with him while negotiating with the weequay - but who knew how long that would last. Master Vant had seemed as warm with Obi-Wan as any of her other charges but then-- 

The sonics cut out, their cleaning cycle completed. 

A set of tunics and trousers were set out for him, and Obi-Wan struggled into the oversized clothes. He frowned as he studied his reflection in the tiny mirror. He looked like a youngling playing dress-up at the quartermaster's. He made a frustrated sound and ended up bunching the extra fabric in as tight a knot as he could, grateful that the oversized shirt would hide if his pants started to slip. 

Jango was waiting with a tube of bacta and a pile of bandages when he shuffled back into their cabin. "Are you okay helping patch me up when we're done?" the man asked instead of commenting on Obi-Wan's less-than-ideal wardrobe situation, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel grateful for the man's tact. 

"Of course," Obi-Wan answered, smiling tentatively as he removed his shirt and took a seat behind Jango, already knowing the man preferred to put himself between Obi-Wan and any entrances. 

The bacta was cold as Jango slathered it across his skin. "It's healing nicely," the man commented. "You'll have a few scars, but they won't be as bad as they could have been." 

Obi-Wan shrugged, or tried to before Jango caught his still-burnt shoulder and plopped a glob of gel across the center. Scars came with being a Jedi. 

\--And he was not finishing that thought. 

"Teach me some more Mando'a?" Obi-Wan blurted, and flushed. A million questions in the galaxy and he had to ask for Mando'a? What a nerd. But it wasn't like he could just ask Jango about how he came to be on that ship. That felt like danger, and asking for Mando'a lessons always made Jango feel warm(er). 

"What do you remember?" the man asked as he held one edge of the bandage against Obi-Wan's ribs. "Ke'tayli _._ " 

"'Lek," Obi-Wan replied, obediently holding the tail in place as Jango moved the roll across his back. "I remember my numbers," he said, and promptly rattled off the first ten digits followed by the larger numerators. 

"Jate," Jango praised. Obi-Wan smiled as the man began naming various objects around them, and having Obi-Wan string the new vocabulary into sentences. "You're learning fast. And we're done with you," he said, patting Obi-Wan's shoulder. "My turn." 

Obi-Wan agreed, turning so he faced his friend. The man carefully removed his own tunic, and Obi-Wan studied the clearly self-applied bandages covering the scars and half-healed gouges in Jango's back. "Did you…?" he started, narrowing his eyes. "Of course you did. I could've helped, you know." 

"I know," Jango stated firmly. "But I didn't want to wake you." 

"You should've," Obi-Wan muttered as he began to peel the wrappings off. "You were the one who told me how tight to wrap things. You know these aren't enough." 

Jango hummed, accepting the lecture with good humor, though Obi-Wan knew the Mandalorian regretted - and would have changed - nothing. He wanted to be a little more rough than necessary just to convey his irritation, but refrained. That was the sort of petty nonsense that had gotten him kicked out of the Temple in the first place. 

"Ob'ika?" Jango asked oddly gently. "I've got some hard questions for you. Are you going to be okay answering them? You don't have to answer all of them, but I would like to know." 

Obi-Wan hesitated, a dollop of bacta warming on his fingertips and dread pooling in his stomach. He had a bad feeling about this. 

"Ob'ika? _Ob'ika, can you answer a few questions?"_ Jango prodded in carefully chosen Mando'a. When Obi-Wan still didn't answer, he sighed and continued as delicately as a sumpter through a minefield. _"Do you have family? Or somewhere to go? I know I told Hondo you were sticking with me, but we can bring you home. You don't have to go on my, or Hondo's, job."_

For a few beats, Obi-Wan wanted to feign ignorance. But just as Jango had given him a convenient out, he had also picked his words to only include vocabulary they both knew Obi-Wan understood. 

Obi-Wan wasn't a coward. He would not take the easy escape. 

But how should he answer? He was a Jedi, sort of. He _had been_ a Jedi, at least. And then he was reassigned to AgriCorps and who knew what his status was now. 

Was Master Jinn even looking for him? Xanatos had certainly been convinced Master Jinn would try, even if Obi-Wan had his doubts. 

_"No family,"_ he answered slowly, pretending he didn't feel the spike of mostly positive emotions from Jango. 

"That's okay. You're welcome to stay with me," Jango said very evenly in Basic. "I can't promise a house with a tooka and a bunch of siblings, but I can promise you a place by my side." 

Obi-Wan frowned, gut churning as he waited for the _but._ Nothing in life had been this easy (if living as a slave for multiple weeks counted as "easy") since he turned twelve and the need for a Master grew more urgent. 

He continued working in silence for a few moments, carefully taping off the last of the bandages and shifting away to let Jango put his shirt back on. "I'm done with your back," Obi-Wan said. 

"Vor'e, Ob'ika _,"_ Jango said, but didn't move from his vulnerable position. Obi-Wan braced himself in the following silence before Jango asked, _"How did you end up on that ship?"_

There was the other shoe. 

Obi-Wan bit his lip and fidgeted. Jango sat patiently, still not looking at him, though Obi-Wan could sense carefully controlled acceptance/support/warmth/patience from the man. It almost reminded him of Master Windu after he and Quin had been caught sneaking water balloons through the Temple. Stern, but not angry. Just wanting to know what two Initiates were doing with potential weapons of mass chaos. 

Master Windu had been fair with him and Quin after that incident. Jango had given no sign he would be anything less. He could trust that, right? 

_"I-- My Jedi-brother? Sold me to torment Master Jinn,"_ Obi-Wan answered, struggling to come up with how to describe his relationship with Xanatos. Jango stiffened, offense radiating from him. "We're not really brothers? But he thought we were?" he tried to clarify. 

It didn't help. Obi-Wan could feel how Jango grew more angry with every word, which only made Obi-Wan more frantic to calm his friend. 

"Um, Jedi Lineage isn't really a family like Mandalorians think of family?" Obi-Wan continued. "Like, if two people have the same Master, they're considered siblings, but I wasn't good enough to be accepted by Master Jinn as a Padawan so Xanatos isn't really my brother. I know you said family's really important, but it's not the same. Please don't be mad!" he finished in a rush. 

Obi-Wan watched as Jango carefully unclenched his fist. "I'm not mad at you, Ob'ika," he lied - and Obi-Wan _knew_ it was a lie because why else would Jango be so mad? - as he rose from the bunk. "I'm sorry. I have to," he trailed off, grabbing his shirt and storming out of the cabin. 

Obi-Wan could only watch, gut sinking somewhere towards the vicinity of his feet, as he felt tears prickle his eyes. 

He had known this was going to be bad. 

And now he'd just lost another person, and he didn't even know _why_ . 

-0- 

Jango had to move. 

He had known the conversation with Obi-Wan was not going to be pleasant. The kid was clearly freeborn - had said as much fairly early in their stint on the freighter - so Jango had been prepared for any number of sob stories explaining how an intelligent, competent, brave kid wound up a slave on a spice freighter. 

He had not been prepared for the kid to be a… a… 

Fuck. 

He _liked_ the kid. He was scrappy and violent and mandokarla through and through. 

He was also an enemy, raised by the very people who had _murdered_ his own. 

Fuck. He should've known. Hells, he had figured out the kid was Force sensitive within hours of meeting him. And while yes, there were a few different Force sects in the galaxy, there was really only one big sect the kid could've come from. 

Fucking Corellian hells. If the Jedi were fucking capable of looking after their own people, Jango wouldn't have fucking _met him_ and started to like him and-- 

Jango growled and punched a spice crate. A pirate, Sabo, jumped, took one look at him, and promptly fled the storage bay. 

What was he even supposed to do with the kid? He didn't want to give him back, not when the Jedi would just fucking ruin him like they fucking ruin everything else in the fucking galaxy, but what else was he supposed to do? Jedi had a reputation for hunting down their lost members, and had an even bigger reputation for slicing first and asking questions never. 

(He was quite familiar with _that_ particular reputation, too. Fucking _Jetiise._ ) 

The kid had said he didn't have any family. That... actually made some sliver of sense, if his own dar'vod had been the one to sell him to that ship. Jango would have renounced his vod for less (had, actually, when Arla was being particularly mean, even if he hadn't actually meant it). 

Still, did he not know that Jedi never just gave up on their little lost younglings? Every Mando child knew their parents would burn the galaxy to ashes to save them. Surely Jedi, who were just as violent if somehow "more moral" than Mandalorians, taught their children the same? 

Fuck. 

_Fuck._

Obi-Wan was a good kid, he really was. He would make a glorious Mandalorian, and Jango wanted to be there to help make that a reality. He wanted to explain the significance of the paint, participate in the ritual that was presenting the first piece of beskar, help get the kid fitted with his first helmet. 

He _really_ fucking didn't want to give the kid back, and the vehemence of that thought surprised him. 

Why should the Jedi get to take _everything_ from him _again?_ They had already stolen the Haat'ade and his freedom. Who gave them the right to take his aliit too? 

Aliit. Family. The kid had said he had no family. Did that mean Jango could swoop in and take him? If Jango adopted Obi-Wan, would that supersede whatever claim the Jedi had on him? 

He hoped so. That seemed like his only hope, short of burning the whole Jedi Order to the ground. And as much as he would like to see those shabuire burn, he was only one man against thousands. 

Would the kid even want to be adopted? Kid was clingy enough, but that could've been trauma. Now that they were safe - and Jango would _make sure_ Obi-Wan was safe if it meant he had to murder Hondo's whole crew with his bare hands to do it - would Obi-Wan even want to hang around? 

Obi-Wan hadn't said anything when Jango had offered, and Ka'ra if that wasn't a knife to the gut. 

He couldn't just adopt the kid without the kid's approval. That was wrong on so many levels, Jango could hardly comprehend it. Maybe he hadn't been clear enough? The kid had a tendency to live in his own head, so maybe Jango had to be a little more direct. 

He could do that. He just had to calm down, reassert his self-control, and set the kid down for another bombshell discussion. 

Fuck. What would he do if Obi-Wan said no? 

No, he couldn't think about such things. That felt too close to the knife's edge, too close to toppling over into madness, and Jaster would kill him if he broke _now_ of all times. 

Jaster. What would Jaster do? Jaster had adopted him from a pretty shit situation, and Jango thought he turned out just fine. Of course, Jango had heard his parents die and watched his family's farm burn, had known that there was no going back. Did Obi-Wan know the same? It was one thing to misplace a child temporarily, it was another entirely to _sell a child into fucking slavery._ Did Obi-Wan recognize that? 

Jaster would be frank and factual and patient as ~~Jango~~ Obi-Wan screamed at him. He would clearly state his intentions and let ~~Jango~~ Obi-Wan choose, again and again, until ~~Jango~~ Obi-Wan was settled and happy and considered Jaster aliit. And ~~Jango~~ Jaster would definitely not murder the ~~Jedi~~ Death Watch. Just… a little evisceration. As a treat. 

Jango breathed deep, way forward set. There was no way Obi-Wan would go back - could go back - to the Jedi. And if the kid seemed to want to return, Jango would explain all the ways the Jedi were horrible and unworthy of someone like Obi-Wan among their ranks, and Obi-Wan would _understand_. 

Ka'ra, he hoped Obi-Wan would understand. 

He made his way back to their shared cabin, taking care of the noise he made as he worked his way through the cramped ship. He had seen the way Obi-Wan had startled at the weequays stomping around, even if it seemed like the kid had everything under control while fully awake. Stars knew when he would be able to get the kid the support the kid desperately needed; the least he could do is mind his triggers. 

He knocked on the door, paused, and palmed it open when he got no response. He frowned as he scanned the room, taking in the dark. "Ob'ika?" he asked, just to be certain. 

Silence. 

He flipped the lights on and checked, but Obi-Wan was not in the cabin. Nor was he in the galley, cockpit, cargo bay, or engine room, which only left the fresher or one of the other cabins. 

Jango sighed as he sank onto the bunk he had shared with Obi-Wan. He thought he had managed his anger fairly well, all things considered, but if the kid wanted space then Jango would provide. They were stuck in hyperspace for at least another two days. He would have his chance to talk with Obi-Wan again soon enough. 

In theory, at least. 

(And in practice, sometimes Jango really hated _theory_.) 

-0- 

Obi-Wan tried not to fidget with his sleeves as he strapped himself into one of the galley crash seats. The pirate crew had been surprisingly accommodating when Obi-Wan had invaded their space, welcoming him into several games of sabacc followed by some impromptu astronav lessons. Hondo had even produced a mismatched sewing kit from Force knew where, so he was no longer tripping over his own (borrowed) tunics. 

All told, it had been an enjoyable few days learning from pirates. Hondo, apparently realizing Obi-Wan and Jango were avoiding each other, had cleared an extra cabin for him to bunk in so he didn't have to share with Jango if he didn't want to. Nightmares kept Obi-Wan from really enjoying the private space, but he still appreciated the gesture. 

Beside him, Hondo took an exaggerated sniff and sighed, "Ah, do you smell that, my friend?" Obi-Wan sniffed the air, but could only smell old grog, blaster oil, and the faint scent of ozone sonics left on skin. "That is the smell of profits!" 

"Is it really? Because it doesn't smell any different," Obi-Wan said, sniffing a second time just to be sure. He maybe caught a whiff of some perfume or cologne or something one of the pirates were wearing, but that was it. 

"Really? Try again, my young friend. Perhaps your human olfactory organs are defective, because I can definitely smell a good haul in our future," Hondo ordered, sounding mildly concerned. When Obi-Wan still couldn't smell anything new, the weequay just sighed dramatically. "Oh, the tragedy! I fear you shall never be as good a pirate as me, my young friend." 

Obi-Wan tried not to let the disappointment show. He didn't necessarily _want_ to be a pirate, but Hondo had been nice so far and if the Jedi didn't want him and Jango didn't want him… 

"I suppose you'll have to settle for being the second greatest pirate in the galaxy!" Hondo declared, dropping one arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders while Sabo gasped in mock outrage. 

"But boss, I thought _we_ were the next greatest pirates." 

"You are certainly the greatest pirate _crew_. You have to dream bigger! Can you see our young friend here remaining as crew his whole life? He has vision! And ambition!" Hondo said, and Obi-Wan bit back a giggle as the pirate captain dug himself into a deeper hole with his lieutenant. 

A spike of emotion - jealousy? Hurt? Something negative for sure - drew Obi-Wan's attention away from the squabbling pirates. Jango silently strapped himself in as far away from Obi-Wan as he could, pointedly not looking at anyone else as he did so. 

Obi-Wan tried to ignore the squirming in his gut at the sight. He hadn't meant to completely avoid the man since that first day, but the man had been so _angry_ and Obi-Wan was nervous about waking the sleeping nexu with his presence and it really was better for everyone if he disappeared whenever he felt Jango approach. 

It wasn't cowardice, just... peacekeeping. 

The ship slid out of hyperspace, making a gentle descent into atmo. Obi-Wan wished he had been allowed to sit in the cockpit for entry, but no one seemed to believe the copilot's seat would offer adequate crash protection for someone his size. The restrictions chaffed - he _had_ successfully crash landed the Monument mere weeks ago - but he was learning to recognize battles he had no chance of winning, and any time one of the adults thought his safety was in jeopardy there was simply no winning. 

They landed in Troria, the capitol city, and Obi-Wan fought valiantly to keep from rolling his eyes as the three weequays immediately hit the nearest tavern while Jango went off on his own recon mission. Hondo dragged him along, ostensibly so Obi-Wan could learn information gathering the pirate way, though he refused to let Obi-Wan try any booze no matter how crucial that step apparently was to a good interrogation. 

The bartender - surprisingly, a plump, ruddy faced human woman instead of a droid - immediately cooed and dropped a tall glass of blue milk on the counter next to his hand with a warm smile. 

"Thanks," Obi-Wan said, politely sipping at the thick liquid. He didn't actually like blue milk, but he couldn't bring himself to refuse the woman, especially after she positively glowed with delight at his polite response. 

He glanced around the cantina, rolling his eyes as Parsel and Hondo started a particularly raucous shanty. Was this really information gathering, or just an excuse to hang out with a never-ending tap? 

The bartender tutted, eyeing Parsel as he climbed atop a table to start a merry jig. "Fool's gonna break his neck, and it'll be my mess to clean up." 

"No he won't. He's acting a lot drunker than he actually is," Obi-Wan reassured the woman and taking a deep swig of blue milk. He fought to keep from gagging. Force, he needed a better beverage before he tried to wise-old-Jedi-Master-imparting-soul-deep-wisdom at a bar again. 

She snorted. "Oh I know. Your friend's not the one who'll break his fool neck. It's Kilian, the dumb drunk sloshing about over there, who's fool enough for that nonsense," she said, shaking her head before releasing a put-upon sigh. "So what brings you lot to our insignificant corner of the galaxy?" 

"Refueling, mostly," Obi-Wan lied. "And I was promised an 'educational experience.'" 

The bartender laughed, a short, barking thing that startled the grumpy looking man further down the bar. "If this is your friends' idea of an education, you need better friends. Now do you want an actual education or the spacer's version?" 

Obi-Wan smiled broadly at the woman. "An actual education, please! Hanging around cantinas would be a lot more fun if I were allowed to drink something better than blue milk," he complained and quickly backpedaled at the affronted look on the bartender's face. "Uh, not that there's anything wrong with the blue milk. Or your cantina. Ma'am." 

"I know, honey," she said with another laugh and a wink. "I'm Telma. So what are you interested in?" 

"I'm Obi-Wan," Obi-Wan introduced with a smile. "What kind of stuff does Galidraan specialize in? Hondo wasn't super specific when we landed." 

Telma snorted. "For good reason. Galidraan's the ass-end of the Outer Rim if I've ever seen it, if you'll pardon my Huttese," she said. "Life's not the worst out here, if you like rocks, trees, and too much snow for anyone's good." She shook her head. "There's a lot of logging, furs, and some gemstone mining that goes on. Our trees aren't anything special, but there's a lot of them, so that's a steady income." 

Obi-Wan nodded sagely. Based on that description, he would have a hard time picking Galidraan out from any number of similar outer or mid rim planets, but Master Narec had always said there was _something_ special and unique to each planet. Some were just harder to identify than others. 

"What kinds of animal furs? Is there a place I can see some of these animals? Or learn more about them?" Obi-Wan asked. 

Telma smiled warmly, and appeared to only just be holding back the urge to pinch Obi-Wan's cheeks. "Well aren't you just the most curious thing? Ah, you remind me of my own little Rusl. He was such a good kid." 

"What happened to him?" Obi-Wan asked with a worried frown. 

"Oh he's fine. Grew up, and now has a job at the governor's palace up the hill. He's a security guard, though what that fool governor needs guarding against, I have no blasted clue. It's not like we're allowed to keep anything more powerful than a hunting rifle these days," Telma said with another sigh. "I guess the governor likes to keep the really good jewels and fur in his private stores at the palace, but that's hardly worth the man's paranoia." She shook her head. "Man's been jumpy since Renaldo and his men tried fighting back however many months ago. Not that anything's changed since then. Governor just hired some mercenaries and had them kill us all until we shut our fool mouths." 

Obi-Wan frowned, staring at the glass of blue milk sadly as Telma continued bitterly. "That's a real lesson for you, kiddo. Those with power will do anything they can to keep it. Governor gets all the money and all the power on this rotten planet, and we get killed for grumbling about it." 

"I'm sorry to hear about that," Obi-Wan said softly, and he really was. Where were the Jedi in all this? Weren't they supposed to help defend the downtrodden and promote peace and justice in the galaxy? 

Telma's palm rested on his hand, and Obi-Wan glanced up in surprise. The woman smiled reassuringly, though Obi-Wan could now see the shadows hidden in her brown eyes. "It's in the past. The governor will get what's coming to him soon enough. Folk can only starve under a tyrant for so long before they can't stand it anymore." 

Obi-Wan nodded, but couldn't help thinking the whole situation stank. Part of him wanted more information, but the rest of him knew there was no good way to ask the questions. 'Why did you want to revolt?' 'Explain your horrible, oppressed lives in five hundred words or less, with sources.' Force, that sounded like a particularly terrible Temple assignment. 

"Anyways, that's enough depressing talk. Rusl says they do public tours of the palace every other week if you're hanging around that long. You might learn something, or at least get to see the inside of a government building," Telma offered. 

"I don't think we're planning on staying here long enough, but thank you," Obi-Wan demurred with a small smile. "Do you know if there are any brochures or books or anything on the palace I could read instead?" 

Telma was more than happy to let him borrow her datapad after she loaded it with the relevant information. It was apparent that she was proud of her home, if not the current government, and wanted to share that pride with anyone willing to learn. 

Obi-Wan only felt mildly guilty at the unintentional deception. He really did want to learn! He just… also had a feeling he would be breaking into the governor's palace soon, and a few maps never hurt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Ke'tayli = hold  
> 'Lek = okay  
> Jate = good  
> Vor'e = thanks, fairly casual  
> Dar'vod = former brother  
> Jetiise = Jedi (plural), but the -ii implies a particularly loathsome relationship between Mando'ade and Jetiise  
> Haat'ade = True Mandalorians  
> Aliit = family/clan  
> Shabuire = jerks, but much stronger, ie motherfuckers


	4. And Bitter Action

Obi-Wan tried not to feel jealous about the bottle of lime green booze the pirates were passing around. The three weequays looked to really enjoy the sharp smelling drink, and curiosity burned like a low grade fever every time the bottle changed hands. 

Unfortunately for him, Hondo had made it very clear that he was not allowed to touch the booze without permission. 

Whose permission he needed was unclear. Obi-Wan's best kicked tooka look had left the pirate captain spluttering and fleeing the room without further explanation. Parsel and Sabo had similarly fled and feigned ignorance when Obi-Wan tried asking. That really only left Jango, but it made no sense for Jango to care about him after he had confessed to being a Temple reject. 

Hondo grabbed the bottle back and made a big production of offering the last of it to his crew. Obi-Wan watched the whole scene with no small amount of skepticism. If that grog really was the ambrosia Hondo claimed it was, why hadn't Obi-Wan seen more Jedi drink back at the Temple? 

But the pirates really enjoyed it, so maybe the Jedi Masters were just missing out? 

The sound of someone entering the galley drew everyone's attention. "Ah, Jango, glad you could join us!" Hondo welcomed, arms stretched wide. 

Jango took one look around the room, snorted, and took a seat at the galley table as far away from Obi-Wan as possible, which really meant right across from him. Obi-Wan swallowed nervously, not sure what that meant. 

"Our best time to strike will be between 2200 and 2330," Jango stated, immediately breaking into business as he withdrew a scrap of flimsi from his pocket. The pirates appeared surprised at the directness, but Sabo reluctantly abandoned the second bottle he was in the process of collecting as everyone gathered around the flimsi. "Shift change begins at 2400, with a thirty minute overlap. Most of that time will be spent arming and disarming, and the closer we get to that 2400 window the more lax the guards should become." 

Obi-Wan frowned, question on the tip of his tongue. "Where's the loot?" Hondo asked, bored. "What do you know of where they're keeping the good stuff?" 

Jango and Obi-Wan frowned at Hondo. What was Hondo doing, leading Jango on like that? The pirate knew exactly where the governor's storehouse was. Corellian Hells, the pirate had helped him slice the encryptions that pointed right at the silly things! 

"I've been inside the palace before," Jango said. "If you have a stylus, I can start sketching the layout." 

"You were gone for the whole day and you don't have anything better than a sketch? My little friend here had a map by midmeal!" Hondo said proudly, producing a small holoprojector from his coat and throwing it on the table with extra flair. 

A grainy projection of the governor's palace sprang into existence. Some places were marked with helpful notes like 'visitor's entrance' and 'public galley.' A whole room was dedicated to the 'Governor's Scepter Display,' complete with traffic patterns for tour groups. Other areas were marked by Obi-Wan's own careful hand, pointing out the expanded guard stations and where requisitions had been placed for durasteel reinforcements. 

Jango glared at the pirate, fist bunching next to the shift schedule. "Obi-Wan was supposed to stay with you," he growled. "Not explore the palace." 

"I didn't explore the palace," Obi-Wan protested before Hondo could rile Jango up any further, glaring at both men. He _had_ been at the top of his lightsaber classes. He didn't need a… a _babysitter_. And Hondo really shouldn't torment people like that. "Telma let me read a few holobooks that included public maps. And then I dug around on the holonet and found some expansion plans and blueprints and stuff." 

Jango blinked in surprise before a small smile twitched at his lips, pride and something else bleeding into the Force around him. "Excellent work, Ob'ika," the man praised. He eyed the map, studying the expansions Obi-Wan had annotated. "This is very good." 

Obi-Wan tried to maintain his serenity, but he knew his pale skin was showing a pleased blush and he couldn't quite keep the smile from his face. "I think that's the service entrance," he said eagerly, pointing at a series of docks near the base of the palace. "I couldn't find anything to confirm that, but the palace shipping address pointed towards these coordinates." 

"A service entrance?" Jango repeated, leaning forward and trading looks with Hondo. "We could work with that…" he trailed off thoughtfully before launching into a full strategy. 

Obi-Wan listened carefully, eyes running across the map as the plan was laid out. Hondo interjected occasionally, mostly to try and maximize the weequays' time in the governor's storehouse. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the obvious greed, already knowing that whatever cut the pirates got from this mission would be significantly greater than the thirty? forty? however many percent everyone had agreed on at the spice freighter. 

He had the feeling Jango knew that as well, and didn't care. 

Whatever they were here to retrieve, Jango must value it immensely. 

"Understood?" Jango asked tersely, glancing around the table. 

Obi-Wan frowned. "What am I doing?" he asked. 

Heavy silence filled the galley as all eyes turned towards Jango, and Obi-Wan was surprised to realize _Jango_ was the one fidgeting this time. 

"That's… up to you, Ob'ika," the man said slowly, and something leapt inside Obi-Wan's chest at the way Jango used the familiar nickname. "I was telling the truth when I said you don't have to go on this job if you don't want to." 

Obi-Wan felt his frown deepen. "You're not leaving me behind. Ner runi bal ka'ra oyu'baat ven'ash'amur. I can help!" he declared hotly. "I can fight and I've got the Force and I can k-kill if I have to." 

"Let's not let it get to that, verd'ika," Jango said gently. 

"Are you saying I can't come with?" Obi-Wan pressed, a glare prickling between his brows. 

"No, I'm saying you won't have to kill if you're not comfortable with it," Jango corrected, and Obi-Wan immediately deflated. 

That was… a lot more palatable than being left behind. 

"So I can join you?" he asked in a soft voice before continuing even softer, "You don't hate me?" 

Jango's face spasmed, switching between emotions too quickly for Obi-Wan to read. His Force presence was equally wild, though Obi-Wan could feel a thread of excitement and hope remain steady through the maelstrom. 

Off to the side, Hondo coughed and rose, Parsel and Sabo hastily following suit. Obi-Wan barely noticed as the three pirates awkwardly shuffled out of the galley and into the cargo bay, too busy trying to read Jango's reaction to care what the weequays did. 

"Ob'ika, I never hated _you,"_ Jango promised roughly, hand slowly reaching across the table towards Obi-Wan's shoulder. The boy watched the careful motion for a moment before he decided Jango was taking too long and slid around the table to press against the man's side. 

There was a flash of surprise before warmth and happiness and welcome enveloped Obi-Wan, the feeling intensifying as Jango wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders. Obi-Wan wanted to languish in that feeling forever, but dreadful curiosity tickled the back of his brain, souring the moment. 

"You say you don't hate _me_ , but you definitely hate something," Obi-Wan asked obliquely, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer. 

Jango sighed, shifting so his cheek rested against the crown of Obi-Wan's head and tucking him tighter against his side. "I've got history on this planet," he started and paused, gathering his words. Obi-Wan tried not to feel worried in the silence. "You remember… I'm Haat'ad, a True Mandalorian. My buire were killed by a terrorist faction called Kyr'tsad, Death Watch in Basic, and I tracked Kyr'tsad funding to the Governor of Galidraan. I made a deal: the Haat'ade would put down a violent insurrection for payment and information on where to find Kyr'tsad." 

Obi-Wan frowned, shifting out of his friend's embrace so he could watch the Mandalorian's face. "We were tricked," Jango said, voice breaking. "Someone \- the governor or Kyr'tsad or that dar'manda hut'uun Viszla himself - told the Jetiise that we were slaughtering noncoms and _children."_

Jango pinned Obi-Wan with a pleading look, grasping Obi-Wan's hands and clinging for dear life. "We would _never_ kill children or non-combatants. No Mando'ad, certainly no _True_ Mando'ad, could ever hurt an adiik. Kyr'tsad framed us, and the Jedi fell for it, no questions asked. They slaughtered us all." 

Obi-Wan felt his stomach plummet into his feet. 

What was Jango talking about? How could the Jedi kill a bunch of people? _Why_ would they? 

"But… Jedi don't just kill people. They're supposed to be fair and good," Obi-Wan protested. "Even with bad guys," and was Jango a bad guy? Oh Force, Obi-Wan hoped not, but Telma's story was coming back and if the Haat'ade were the same mercenaries that slaughtered her people, it did not paint the Haat'ade in a good light. "Jedi are supposed to capture and turn them over to local authorities." 

Jango laughed bitterly. "They did that too. How else did I wind up on that shabla nemav me'sen? They claimed we would be treated fairly, but I could tell. They didn't care; we were already guilty in their eyes. If we surrendered, we would have been slaughtered and enslaved regardless. We were _Mando'ade._ Of course we fought back." 

Obi-Wan frowned as sympathy and understanding warred with years of dedication and loyalty. 

If that was the Mandalorians' side of the story, what was the Jedi's? 

He wanted to believe Jango and the Haat'ade were good people, but he _knew_ the Jedi were as well. Jango had protected him and cared for him and bandaged him and held him, just like the Jedi had taken care of him for his whole life. How could two good peoples fight each other like that? 

Did that make one of them evil? But neither Jango nor the Jedi _felt_ evil. 

Was the slaughter because of the long and violent history between Mandalorians and Jedi? But Jedi didn't judge that quickly, or they weren't supposed to. Had they sensed some darkness in Jango and the Haat'ade that Obi-Wan didn't? They were Jedi Knights and Masters - surely that must be what had happened. 

"Did you really kill the locals?" Obi-Wan asked, voice cracking. 

Jango sighed, letting go of Obi-Wan's hands as his gaze drifted off to the side. "The Supercommando Codex establishes that mercenary work and bounty hunting can be a moral profession. We picked our contracts carefully and in hindsight should have ignored this one, but we needed the governor's information. We destroyed a fort and the people manning it." 

Obi-Wan felt some of his faith in Jango shatter. "But Telma said they were just hungry. She said that the governor was keeping all the food and they were going to starve if they didn't fight back." 

"We didn't know that," Jango said with a sigh and Obi-Wan wanted to believe this was the truth, that the Haat'ade truly hadn't known who or why they were killing. At least it didn't feel like Jango was lying. "We could have \- and perhaps should have - dug deeper, but we were given a military target and were promised something we needed in return. That was good enough for me." 

"And the Jedi?" Obi-Wan asked softly, not sure he wanted to know Jango's answer. 

"They heard Mandalorians were killing women and children and they came at us, lightsabers blazing. I hate them all for what they did," Jango confessed, gaze snapping back onto Obi-Wan. "If we should have dug deeper, they should have as well. They should have known it was Kyr'tsad before they started _executing_ us. They didn't even ask. I can never forgive the Jedi for what they did here." 

Obi-Wan froze, eyes wide as something inside him _cracked_. "But… I'm a Jedi." 

"You're different," Jango stated as if that was the end of it. 

"No I'm not! I may not be a Padawan or ever become a Knight, but I can use the Force and a lightsaber and- and I'm a Jedi! If you hate the Jedi, you've got to hate me too!" he cried, tears prickling at his eyes. 

Jango sighed, a broken look on his face, and reached for Obi-Wan's hands again. Obi-Wan quickly snatched them back and scooted away, glaring at the man. Jango sighed once more, regret radiating from him. "Ob'ika," he started and glared at the tabletop before moving his gaze back towards Obi-Wan, the struggle obvious on his face. "Ob'ika, I'm sorry. _Ni ceta_. I don't hate you, I _promise_." He paused, searching Obi-Wan's face for something, and visibly steeled himself. "I can't… promise I can forgive the Jedi," he ground out like it was killing him to say (and it probably was), "but I can try to move past it, at least for the ones who weren't _here._ For your sake." 

Obi-Wan frowned, testing Jango's sincerity in the Force. It crooned like a wounded tooka, pitiful and broken and not sure it wouldn't get kicked, but willing to try and trust. He wasn't lying, and it clearly pained him to even consider forgiving the Jedi. 

Could he trust that? Should he? 

He didn't want to lose Jango. Not after… after the last several weeks. Hondo and Sabo and Parsel were nice, but they didn't _get it_ like Jango did. 

Just like the Jedi - if they would even accept a failed initiate back - wouldn't _get it_ like Jango did. 

He had tried meditating his nightmares away. It didn't work as well as Jango's presence did. 

Was that a selfish reason to forgive a person? Yes, it absolutely was, and Obi-Wan cringed from that, but he also couldn't stop himself. Some desperate instinct made him grasp for the peace Jango provided with both hands. 

Force, forgive him for what he was about to do. 

"Okay," Obi-Wan said tentatively, grasping Jango's hand. "Okay. I'll accept that. And I'll show you that not all Jedi are bad," he promised. 

"Does that mean you'll stay with me?" Jango asked, the early glimmers of hope chasing the shadows from his eyes. 

Obi-Wan bit his lip and hesitantly nodded. 

A brilliant smile lit Jango's face, the Force exploding into happy spirals around him. "Can I formalize it? Make you part of my aliit?" Jango asked eagerly, smiling even wider when Obi-Wan nodded again, a little more certain this time. "Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'vod Obi-Wan," he said solemnly. He paused, head tilting in question. "Do you have a last name, or would you like to use mine?" 

Obi-Wan froze, mind racing through their time together, and was surprised to realize that he couldn't remember giving Jango his surname, nor did he remember what Jango's was. Had the man even provided it? "It's Kenobi, and I don't know." 

"You're free to choose whatever you prefer. You can be Obi-Wan Fett or Obi-Wan Kenobi of Clan Fett or whatever you want. Just let me know what you've decided whenever you've decided so I know how to introduce you in the future," Jango offered, smile never leaving his face. 

Obi-Wan nodded and filed that under things he would consider later. For now, he had more questions about Kyr'tsad, the Haat'ade, and the mess that was their shared history. 

-0- 

"Is anyone else ready to make some credits?" Hondo interrupted loudly, and Jango felt a brief flash of irritation as the pirate swaggered back into the galley. 

And the weequays had been so polite for their little heart-to-heart, too. 

He glanced at Obi-Wan for a second and couldn't help the way his heart skipped as he remembered that this was his _aliit_ now. _His_ aliit, to protect and nurture and raise to be the best Mando'ad in the galaxy. "The kid stays with me," he growled, glaring at Hondo. 

The weequay faltered for a moment, a flash of disappointment there and gone before the pirate threw his arms wide, all cares scattered to the stars. "Of course, of course. Equal division of labor and all that." He clapped his hands together, and Jango only increased the intensity of his glare _a little_ when Obi-Wan leapt out of his skin. He had discussed triggers with the crew already. They knew better. "Shall we…?" he asked, hands gesturing towards the cargo bay. 

Obi-Wan happily followed the weequay into the cargo bay, Jango trailing just behind. 

Preparations went as smoothly as Jango could hope. Hondo managed to procure an extra set of hold out blasters for Obi-Wan and Jango, and Jango made sure the kid knew how to clear and safe the weapon before helping strap it to the kid's thigh. 

Jango knew he was fretting as they piled into the rented speeder. They were all armed to the teeth, but without beskar they could be walking munitions depots and Jango would still be unhappy. Were there any armorers that would craft an early set of plates for Obi-Wan? Ka'ra knew what had happened to that sacred art since Kyr'tsad and the Jetiise - Jedi, he had to start thinking of them as _Jedi_ and not as enemies _,_ for Obi-Wan \- wiped out the Haat'ade. 

He would have to investigate that soon, before Obi-Wan started giving him premature gray hair. 

"We're coming up on the final approach, boss," Parsel reported. 

Jango traded looks with Obi-Wan, reading determination and battle-readiness on the kid's face. As much as he wished the kid had agreed to stay behind, he couldn't deny the kid's spirit made him proud. 

Infiltrating the building was far easier than Jango would have expected. The lack of resistance could have been suspicious, but Hondo's crew was refreshingly competent at uncovering weaknesses and taking full advantage of them, especially if those weaknesses included booze. A few bottles of Ohnaka's Finest and they were inside, no questions asked. 

At least Hondo and Sabo took the time to hide the passed out guards before they made their beeline for the governor's personal storehouse. 

The ventilation system was designed to carry massive amounts of air through a drafty palace, and it showed in the sheer size of the ducts. Obi-Wan was able to fit with room to spare, and while Jango did not have that same luxury, it was far from the most cramped space he had squeezed into for a job. 

They had barely crawled past the front entrance and into the adjoining hallway when an alarm wailed. A stream of white-knuckled guards raced through the corridor towards the storehouse, forcing them to stop moving or risk being heard. Jango fought the urge to rub his temples, his good opinion of Hondo diminishing at the noisy (and premature) detection. 

It was barely 2100. Jango would not be able to bail the weequays out for at least an hour. 

They had better not die and leave his vod'ika and himself stranded here. 

He gently nudged Obi-Wan and pointed at an upcoming intersection. The kid nodded once and followed, pausing once he reached the cross to plant a small explosive against one wall. The remote detonator attached to the kid's belt lit up as Jango watched Obi-Wan carefully arm the bomb. 

Jango nodded once and continued the slow trudge through the vents towards the armory, Obi-Wan at his heels. He had not expected Obi-Wan to be so willing to use explosives so soon after having one tied to his throat, but the kid was full of surprises. 

And Jango suspected the kid wanted to feel useful. He had to be getting close to the right age to take the verd'goten, and Jango was _not_ thinking about that any further. 

The armory was fully staffed by a small cadre of guards. Five of them were deep in a game of sabacc while another three played dice off to the side. One slept next to a portable radio. None were actively watching the door or noticed the two unarmored Mandalorians watching from the overhead grates. 

Nine guards? It would be child's play if he were wrapped in beskar, but could be dangerous for anyone caught in the crossfire. 

Jango caught Obi-Wan's eye as he slowly pried the grate free and set it aside. Obi-Wan looked as determined as any verd'ika on a hunt, though the fact Jango could see the kid's face to read his expression was less than ideal. 

He very deliberately pointed at Obi-Wan, then the shaft, then mimed sniping guards. _'You, stay here, sniper support.'_

Obi-Wan pouted, shook his head, pointed at himself, then Jango, and then at the ground. _'No, I follow you.'_

Jango scowled, pointed at Obi-Wan, mimed slicing a vibroblade across his throat, and shook his head. _'You are not dying today.'_

Obi-Wan scowled right back, and Jango had to sigh. 

Unfortunately, one of the sabacc guards took that moment to lean back and moan to the stars at his lousy hand. Jango and Obi-Wan froze as the guard caught sight of them, mouth flopping open in surprise. 

Jango hastily drew his blaster and shot the guard clean between the eyes, their thin durasteel helm worthless at close range. 

Shouting erupted as the guard's corpse sprawled across the ground. Jango hastily dove from the ceiling and ducked into a roll, opening fire on the closest guards before they had a chance to fumble for their own weapons. 

He shot to his feet, darting towards the edges of the room as he began picking off targets. It was apparent that these guards were used to stationary training holos and had never faced another sentient in battle by the way they blanched and panicked as he rushed them. 

All's the worse for them, Jango thought with a vicious smirk as he shot the sleeping guard, pivoted, and delivered an elbow to another guard's gut. 

Obi-Wan laid cover fire from above, allowing Jango to focus on the guards outside of Obi-Wan's sightlines. A shout from above prompted Jango to duck, and a spear stabbed the air where his back had just been. 

He darted in, slammed his elbow into the guard's throat, and shot him while the guard choked for air. 

The following silence was deafening. 

"Ob'ika? Me'vaar ti gar?" Jango demanded, concern building in his stomach. 

"Naas," Obi-Wan answered quietly, but did nothing to calm Jango's fears. The kid would insist he was fine if he was missing all his limbs and on fire. He must have sensed that, because he continued after a pause, "Do you think… any of them had families?" 

Ka’ra, why did this feel like it was not a rhetorical question? At least the kid had waited until after the fighting to worry about such things. "Their job was risky, just like my job - and this job - is risky," Jango pointed out. "Not everyone gets to return home. Sometimes, people go marching far away ahead of you." 

Obi-Wan remained silent, and Jango let him chew on that while he began sweeping the room for his armor. He would not let melancholic thoughts about Jaster or Myles or the other Haat'ade drag him down. Not now, not when he could finally get vengeance for his lost vode. 

"Is your armor here?" Obi-Wan asked from the vents, voice less certain than Jango would have liked but steady enough for the moment. 

"Should be. The guards I scouted earlier were complaining enough for it," Jango stated, striding past a collection of spears and pausing at a set of helms. "The room is clear if you want to join me." 

He snatched a slender half-circlet off a mannequin head and tossed it towards Obi-Wan, who had just finished dropping from the ceiling. "Put that on. It's a HUD and commlink," he explained at Obi-Wan's curious look. "Not as good as a buy'ce, but it'll do for now." 

He could feel a scowl forming as he searched the room a second time. His armor _should_ be in the armory, but he couldn't find it. 

"Jango? I think I found it," Obi-Wan called. 

The Mandalorian moved towards the kid and froze when he saw what had attracted Obi-Wan's attention. 

That _shabuir_ repainted his armor! 

The urge to growl at the hideous defilement of his second skin was overwhelming. The red highlights around the visor were gone, replaced by poorly applied off-silver and a child's attempt at _jaig eyes_ in green. Unpainted metal peeked through where fresh lavender paint was beginning to flake - the governor's paint clearly not having been treated to adhere to real beskar. 

"Jango?" Obi-Wan asked, worried. 

"I'll explain when we're back on the ship," Jango promised, picking at the flecks and scowling as some paint stubbornly clung to the metal. He wished he had brought something to scrape the offensive paint off, but he had not expected the governor to tarnish his trophy like that. "Watch the door," he ordered as he reluctantly lifted the tainted buy'ce from the rack. 

It felt good to put his beskar'gam back on, even if the paint made his skin crawl. It would likely take the whole hyperspace transit to strip and repaint the suit, but he knew it was a necessary task. At least he would have a chance to teach Obi-Wan about this key part of their culture. 

"Obi-Wan, I want you to stand just inside the door, against the wall. And turn off the lights," Jango said, pleased at the familiar (and fearsome) modulated timber. "I'm about to make some noise." 

Obi-Wan scowled. "Why are we doing that if we have what we came for?" 

"I still need information," Jango answered, gloved fingers trailing across his whistling birds before resting on the all-purpose vambrace controls. He smirked, suspecting Obi-Wan would sense his amusement, "And someone has to rescue Hondo." 

Obi-Wan huffed and rolled his eyes but followed the orders. Jango took a half second to assess their relative positions and jabbed the detonator switch. 

An explosion rattled the building, blasting a cloud of dust and debris from the rafters and open ventilation shaft. 

Sirens wailed, and Jango felt a flash of sympathy as Obi-Wan winced at the noise. Multiple heat signatures immediately sprang up on his HUD, the people and droids behind them scrambling at the sudden chaos. Jango sank deeper into the shadows, bloodthirsty smile creeping across his helmeted face as they settled in to wait. 

The armory door sprang open. "Where is it? I spent a fortune restoring that thing," a thin, reedy voice asked moments before the lights flickered on. 

The governor - a thin, balding excuse of an old man flanked on one side by a spindly protocol droid and by an armored security officer on the other - squeaked in terror at the corpses, and squeaked again when he caught sight of Jango. 

"The armor's right here, hut'uun," Jango growled, wrist rocket and whip cord leveled at the governor's chief of security and blaster pointed at the governor himself. "And I'll use it if you don't tell me where to find Vizsla and Death Watch." 

The governor paled, throat bobbing as he swallowed nervously. "Th-they left. Two days ago!" he blurted, words tumbling together as Jango's finger deliberately moved closer to the trigger. "Said they were going to Corellia. I'm sorry, please don't shoot me!" 

Jango scowled, carefully weighing the man's fear versus the likelihood he was telling the truth. The man was a coward, but he had dealt with enough Mandalorians he had to know there was no way he was walking out of this encounter alive. 

His finger drifted closer to the trigger. 

Was the governor telling the truth? He had no way to know. It wasn't like he could trust the filthy politician. 

His finger hovered on the curved metal. A little more pressure and the governor would be gone. Gone, like the loyal Haat'ade the man had framed. 

(But Obi-Wan was watching. Ob'ika, who was trying so hard to be brave and strong and _moral_ would not like watching Jango murder someone in cold blood.) 

His finger relaxed. 

And then he was sent spinning towards the ground, a blaster bolt to the upper chest knocking him off balance. A shout and more blaster fire erupted around him as Jango hastily picked himself up, blaster snapping into position to fire at whoever shot him. 

The security officer lay face down, unmoving, with three new blaster burns in his side. The protocol droid was a sparking heap next to him, and the governor was left choking on blood, clutching a gut shot. Obi-Wan stood off to one side, face thunderous, and blaster still raised towards the officer. 

"Jango?" Obi-Wan asked after a few moments, only glancing away from the fresh corpses (and soon-to-be-a-corpse) for a split second. 

"I'm fine, Ob'ika," Jango replied, rising to his feet. "It caught the beskar. Not even a scratch." 

Obi-Wan visibly relaxed, letting his weapon fall to his side as he ran his eyes over Jango's frame, seeming to almost look _through_ Jango. Whatever the kid saw clearly pleased him, as Obi-Wan relaxed even further. 

Jango roughly patted the governor down, ignoring the blood and ash that clung to his gloves, and stepped back with a petite commlink in hand. He eyed the man; it would be easy to leave him as he was. Without guards, droids, or a commlink to call for medical aid, the man would be dead in a matter of hours. Gut shots were a cruel, painful way to go, but Jango couldn't summon the empathy to care. Not for this scum. 

It served that shabla hut'uun right. 

"We have what we came for," Jango declared. "Ven, oya'karir Kyr'tsad." 

"What about the governor?" Obi-Wan asked. The man in question turned as best he could to stare at Obi-Wan, a desperate, pleading look on his face. 

Jango growled, blaster pointing at the governor's head, and the governor hastily looked away from Jango's brother. "What about him?" he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the man's pathetic groveling. 

"We're going to just leave him like this? He's dying!" 

"He is," he acknowledged coldly. Jango tilted his helmet in question, "Do you want me to help him?" 

Obi-Wan paused, mouth slipping open as Jango patiently watched the conflict brew behind those clever eyes. "He's… not a good person," Obi-Wan concluded, and the governor's eyes widened in horror. "He starved his people and hired mercenaries to kill them. I may not like the role the Haat'ade played on Galidraan, but you were doing a job. He was the one behind it." 

Jango accepted the kid's judgment in silence. 

"We still shouldn't leave him to suffer," Obi-Wan stated with the faintest hint of a pout. "That's not right." 

Jango hummed, finger drifting back to the trigger. He could tell the moral quandary was weighing heavily on the kid; the least he could do was help ease the kid's conscience. 

His blaster whined, and the governor sagged to the ground. Dead. 

Jango paused next to Obi-Wan to rest one hand on the kid's shoulder. "It was a mercy," he assured the kid, though he knew Obi-Wan remained troubled the whole way back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Ner runi bal ka'ra oyu'baat ven'ash'amur = My soul and all the stars in the galaxy will die. Jango simplified this as "a very intense way of saying 'no way,'" and Obi-Wan is missing the second half of the declaration to really make it work. He's still learning!  
> Haat'ad(e) = True Mandalorian(s) (lit. true-child)  
> Buire = parents. Mando'a is gender-neutral, so this could also be dads and/or moms  
> Kyr'tsad = Death Watch  
> Dar'manda = a state of being not Mandalorian  
> Hu'tuun = coward  
> Jetiise = Jedi, plural  
> Mando'ad(e) = Mandalorian(s)  
> Adiik = child aged 3-13  
> Shebs = backside, rear, ass  
> Shabla nemav me'sen = screwed up (impolite) not-free starship, ie: fucking slave ship  
> Hut'uunla osik = cowardly shit  
> Ni ceta = I'm sorry (lit. I kneel), the most sincere and dramatic form of apology possible for a Mando  
> Aliit = family, clan  
> Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'vod = I recognize your name as my brother. Mandalorian adoption vow. Technically it should be sa'ad (child), but Jango is not ready to consider himself a buir (which comes with a whole host of cultural baggage he's not ready to handle at the moment)  
> Jate = good  
> Oya = positive/triumphant cheer with many meanings including let's hunt, hurray, go you, cheers, stay alive  
> Buy'ce = helmet  
> Vod'ika = little sibling  
> Verd'goten = Mandalorian coming of age test, taken at 13. Completion makes you a legal Mandalorian adult  
> Verd'ika = little soldier, in this case a young warrior (as opposed to private (the rank))  
> Me'vaar ti gar? = what is new with you? Or how are you?  
> Naas = nothing, the "everything's fine" response  
> Buy'ce = helmet  
> Shabuir = motherfucker  
> Shabla hut'uun = screwed up (impolite) coward, ie: fucking coward  
> Ven, oya'karir Kyr'tsad = next (we) hunt Death Watch


	5. For Want of a Drink

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the enthusiasm Hondo and his crew were displaying at their haul. The pirate captain had already draped himself from head to toe in ermine and enormous gemstones and looked more like a rich Coruscanti woman than a fearsome Outer Rim outlaw. How the three weequays planned to turn their bounty into credits, Obi-Wan did not want to know. 

He left the room before Sabo and Parsel could get into an argument over a gaudy spotted boa and made a quick stop in the galley. Despite someone - likely Parsel, since everyone else had been at the governor's palace - restocking, nothing looked appealing and Obi-Wan continued wandering on. 

He found Jango in the cabin Hondo had originally given the two of them, though only Jango slept there now, lavender plates spread out across the cabin floor. Jango was carefully scrubbing at what Obi-Wan thought was a shoulder guard with a rag, a look of fierce concentration on his face that was broken the moment Obi-Wan stepped into the room. 

"Su'cuy, vod'ika," Jango greeted, setting aside the rag to groan and stretch exaggeratedly. (Or Obi-Wan thought it was exaggerated - Jango couldn't be _that_ old, could he?) 

"Su'cuy, Jango," Obi-Wan replied and settled on the floor next to him. "Me'vaar ti gar?" 

"Naas," Jango answered. "Do you want to help?" 

"Oya!" 

Jango dragged himself to his feet, procuring another rag from a pile next to the door and passing it to Obi-Wan. The two of them sat in silence, carefully scrubbing at the flaking paint the governor had used. It was comfortable and warm, not at all like the forced silent work they had both participated in what felt like a lifetime ago, and Obi-Wan smiled as he exchanged a now-gleaming thigh plate for a lavender vambrace. 

"Be careful with that, Ob'ika," Jango warned. "There's a manual blade release on the side." 

Obi-Wan nodded as he carefully inspected the armor and located the indicated button. He prodded at the release, quirking an eyebrow at the wicked hooked blade that sprang from the slot. How someone fought with a blade along their forearm, Obi-Wan had no idea. There were certainly no saber forms he could adapt for something like that! "What else do you have hidden in there?" 

"In this vambrace? There's a few things. Whistling Birds are here," Jango said, indicating a series of small ridges and bumps at the wrist, "and this is a general purpose data-reader," he pointed at a small slot and screen. "Flamethrower and fuel cannisters are here, and there's another vibroknife that gets tucked in the underside. There's a dart launcher above the flamethrower as well." 

"On just this?! Why do you need so many weapons?" Obi-Wan asked, exasperated. Jedi got away with only a lightsaber! Who needed a literal arsenal on each arm? 

"Weapons are important! How else are you going to defend your aliit and finish your job?" 

"Okay, but a flamethrower? What are you going to do, burn someone alive?" 

The ensuing silence was answer enough that yes, you were supposed to burn the target to death. 

Obi-Wan felt his face fall. What a horrible way to go. At least a blaster could be quick. 

"Ob'ika?" Jango asked not tentatively, but at least gently. 

Obi-Wan pretended to not hear the unvoiced questions, his earlier concerns about Jango returning to mind. Jango was… complicated. He had felt Jango's hesitance, his desire to do better, and had witnessed that determination when he faced the governor. But he also carried absolutely horrible weapons and killed in cold blood. 

"Those are mostly used to chase people out of foxholes or to buy some space," Jango said with a sigh. "It's impractical to try burning people to death with a flamethrower - they'll generally move out of the way before anything ignites and the flame isn't hot enough to do significant damage in a short period of time. N'eparavu takisit, I was making a joke, and it didn't work." 

"Oh, okay," Obi-Wan accepted softly, but the easy mood was broken. He scrubbed at the vambrace, picking around the vibroknife slot morosely. 

"Ob'ika, are you okay with this?" Jango asked slowly, and Obi-Wan looked up at the bitter mix of sadness and disappointment he could feel leaking past Jango's iron shields. 

"You mean this revenge tour?" Obi-Wan clarified. Jango didn't respond, so Obi-Wan took that as an affirmative. He frowned, looking back at the vambrace. "I don't think revenge is the right thing, but I know both the governor and Kyr'tsad are bad. And, and the authorities were the problem on Galidraan. We couldn't just turn the governor over to the courts, not when the courts were controlled by the governor. I don't know if death is what he deserved, but I know he can't hurt people anymore, and that's good." 

Jango nodded. "I'm glad you came to that conclusion, but that's not what I meant." He sighed, and Obi-Wan felt worried at the concern Jango radiated. "I'm Haat'ad, and I take work as a mercenary and a bounty hunter. That often means I have to kill, and if you are with me when I'm running jobs, you may have to kill as well." 

Obi-Wan frowned, a prickle of offense - Jango was _not_ leaving him behind like some kid - there and released into the Force as understanding hit like a ton of duracrete. "Oh! This is about my questions in the armory!" 

"And in the end, with the governor's guard, and that time on the freighter when we were breaking out," Jango agreed. Obi-Wan cocked his head in confusion, trying to remember what Jango was talking about. "The lights cut out, and the overseer was thrown into the bulkhead." 

"Oh, that!" Obi-Wan exclaimed. He frowned, trying to find the words to explain. "I- that time, I used the Force. And you know how I can sense people in the Force? I felt him die, and because I used the Force to do it, I felt it a lot stronger. It was-" disturbing, wrong, _Dark,_ "-I didn't like it. All the other times, I was defending you. And I'll defend you again, ne'pare!" he declared, fiercely. 

Jango chuckled as his prickly concern was replaced by a mix of warm emotions. "It's the ori'vod's responsibility to look out for their vod'ika," he teased. "Vod'ike should do their best to not give their ori'vode heart attacks by taking stupid risks." 

"I have not taken stupid risks!" Obi-Wan protested. Jango snorted and gave him a look that clearly said _'Yet.'_

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and went back to his scrubbing. 

-0- 

Corellia was a shithole planet. Admittedly, there were a great many planets that fit that particular description, but Corellia had earned the dubious honor of being a crown jewel amongst the flaming shit piles of the galaxy. What the Green Jedi saw in this planet, a whole rock covered in cities and jungles positively festering with crime and lawlessness under a thin veneer of civility, Zena Arkman would never know. 

But it was an excellent source of work and information, if one knew where to look. So at least it had that going for it. 

Zena sipped at her Whyren's Reserve, savoring the woody taste and smooth burn, and had to correct her mental list of Corellia's dubious qualities. The whiskey was also a plus. 

She sipped at the whiskey a second time, letting her gaze drift across the cantina's occupants. It was Mando night at Charo's, or something to that effect, as the cantina was overrun with rowdy mercenaries sporting the distinctive, and feared, armor. They had been here as long as Zena had, and at this point Zena was fairly certain she would not have any trouble from that particular sector tonight. 

Which isn't to say she wouldn't have trouble. For a man whose living depended on blasters, her informant was annoyingly skittish around them. 

But still, the Force said she needed to be here, so here she would be. 

What was a Jedi but a servant of the Force? Even Jedi who weren't supposed to let other Jedi know they were Jedi. 

Sith Hells, the Reserve was strong today. Her thoughts were usually a lot more coherent. 

Charo must have opened a new barrel. Or reached the bottom of the previous one. Or something. 

Zena blinked at her nearly empty tumbler, and drew the Force to start filtering the alcohol from her system. Honestly, tipsy after… oh. Well, perhaps five drinks without filtering was enough to not be considered a lightweight. 

"Ma'am? Are you done?" a busboy asked, wide light-colored eyes blinking innocently at her. 'Are you ready to go home?' he didn't ask, but Zena distinctly heard between the lines. She glanced at her chrono - barely early evening, still plenty of time for her informant or whatever the Force wanted her to witness to show - and declined. "Would you like another, then?" the boy asked and Zena accepted. 

She watched him scramble to the weequay bartender, something prickling in the back of her mind. The boy felt familiar, but she was quite certain she had never seen the red head before. He was certainly new to Charo's Cantina. 

A new tumbler appeared next to her hand, and Zena smiled at the boy. New or not, Charo had found a good kid. Quick with the drinks, unobtrusive with his service, and stunningly attentive with the whole cantina. The boy tentatively smiled back before disappearing towards the bar. 

The Mandalorians were slowly settling down for a long night, which suited Zena just fine. The calmer the violent brutes were, the less likely she would have to break cover and wreck her mission. 

Of course, because the galaxy hated her, it only took seconds after that observation for everything to go to shit. 

A new Mandalorian entered the cantina, but hardly bothered to remove his - and Zena knew she was assuming things here, but the Mandalorian had the bulky build of a human male or bothan, and bothans were rare in these parts \- helmet, an unusual decision when surrounded by so many allies. The black and gold Mando picked his way past the other Mandos, making a beeline for the burned Mando sitting in a booth in the back. 

Dread and anticipation curled in Zena's stomach as she watched, hand unconsciously drifting towards her blaster. 

"Hello, _Vizsla,_ " the Mando spat, voice loud in the suddenly hushed cantina. 

Confusion flashed across the Mando leader's - Vizsla, Zena supposed - face before recognition set in. _"Fett,"_ he hissed back with equal vitriol. "I thought you were _indisposed."_

"You'll need better chains than that to keep me from killing you," Fett threatened, and Zena blanched. 

She _so_ did not want to get caught in whatever this was. Mandalorians killing Jedi? Sure, okay. There was about ten thousand years of that in the history books. Mandalorians killing Mandalorians and accidentally killing a Jedi in the process? 

No thank you. 

Of course, that was when Zena realized that at some point the cantina had been emptied of everyone except Mandalorians, Charo's workers, and herself. And there was an awful lot of lethargic Mandos (which Zena doubted would remain lethargic for long if she tried to make a break for it) between her and the exit. 

She drew the Force around her, radiating as much you-don't-see-me as she felt safe doing. It wasn't as much as she would have liked, but Mandos were notoriously observant with all their fancy tech and she really didn't want to draw attention right now. She focused on her lightsaber, safely tucked against the small of her back, and drew comfort from its wary song. 

If shit really hit the fan, she could fight her way out. Her mission would be toast, but she would be alive to serve the galaxy another day. 

Hopefully. 

Vizsla burst into laughter, a cruel mocking sound that reminded Zena of the guy she sort-of-fake dated on Lutz three years ago. The guy had been an asshole, and the similarity was doing horrible things for Zena's attempt at objectivity. "I'd like to see you try," Vizsla taunted. 

And then black-and-gold threw himself at Vizsla, a knife clutched in one fist. Vizsla returned the sentiment, neatly deflecting Fett's swipe and returning with a swipe of his own. 

"The hell you all doing?" Vizsla roared as Fett easily deflected a flurry of blows, clearly some sort of Mandalorian kata both men were familiar with. "Kill him!" 

Zena glanced around the cantina, and a few of the less-drugged - and Zena was certain it was a drug that kept the Mandos calm and compliant and had apparently made her alcohol tolerance absolute _shit_ \- Mandos made a half-hearted attempt to draw blasters. The busboy, whom Zena now strongly suspected was not actually a busboy, quickly darted in, disarming the sluggish mercenaries while the weequay bartenders followed suit, albeit at a more sedate pace. 

"That's not their place," Fett growled as he backed off, standing tall and proud in the center of the cantina. 

Vizsla gave a wordless scream of rage as he observed the situation, and the fury he projected into the Force was almost enough to distract Zena from noticing her blaster disappearing from its holster. She startled and turned to see the busboy with an equally startled look on his face. 

"Sorry," the boy squeaked, clutching the weapon. "You can have it back after?" 

Zena blinked slowly, feigning drugged confusion despite the thudding of her heart. If the kid had seen through her projection, the last thing she wanted to do was give away her sobriety - especially when he held a blaster. 

"You think to challenge _me_ for Mandalore?" Vizsla sneered, giving Zena the perfect excuse to turn back towards the Mandos while keeping her Force senses trained on the boy. It would be most unfortunate if he found her other weapons. "Jaster never finished teaching you respect _, boy,"_ Vizsla sneered and rushed into Fett's guard to slam an elbow into Fett's chin. 

Fett stumbled back and opened himself up for Vizsla to land a few more savage blows to Fett's thighs and ribs. Fett groaned, and Tor took the chance to slip around to Fett's back, wrapping one arm tight around the black and gold Mando's throat. 

"Jango!" the boy shouted, protectiveness and alarm bleeding into the Force around the edges of the kid's natural shields. 

Zena winced in sympathy; Vizsla held the other Mando by the throat, one hand held flat and ready to jab into Fett's jugular. It would be a vicious, bloody way to go, and exactly the savage sort of death Zena expected from Mandalorians. 

If Vizsla killed Fett, would she have time to cover the boy's eyes? She glanced over, taking care to keep her face perfectly placid. The answer was no, not physically, not even if the Force warned her before it happened. The boy had drifted too far away from her. 

She needn't have worried as Fett reared backwards and slammed his helmet into Vizsla's nose. The two separated, Vizsla clutching his bleeding face, Fett sparing a moment to rub at his neck. 

Vizsla roared and fired a wrist rocket towards Fett, and Zena could only watch as the rocket careened past Fett to explode against Charo's neat collection of bottles stored behind the bar. Glass and flaming alcohol rained down on the patrons, Zena subtly using the Force to extinguish or redirect the fire before it could land on any sentients. It took more concentration than she could really spare just keeping everyone burn-free, and she dimly recognizing the cold burn of glass shards slicing into her arms. 

She felt more than heard a spike of alarm from Fett and an answering bulldozer-projection from the boy of reassurance and gentle admonishment. She winced and withdrew slightly from the Force. The kid was kriffing _loud_ for a Force-null. 

In her distraction, Zena missed exactly when Vizsla and Fett had resumed their fight. She was no Master Drallig, but the two Mandalorians looked pretty evenly matched. Both certainly sported wounds, some more bloody than others, but neither seemed particularly bothered by them. 

Vizsla snarled as Fett dodged another series of vicious swipes with a vibroknife. "You should go back to being a slave, boy. You're no Mandalorian! Not with how fucking _pitifully_ you fight!" 

Fett ignored the uncouth taunting, though Zena felt a frown tug at her lips on his behalf. Wishing someone else to become a slave was pushing it a bit far, in her humble opinion, and she really didn't want to have to step in. 

She was a Shadow, not part of law enforcement and definitely not part of the Diplomatic Corps. It wasn't her place to interfere - would actually likely cause trouble for the rest of the Order if she did - no matter what her personal morals said. 

Fett pushed into Vizsla's guard, though Vizsla easily twisted away from the other Mandalorian's kick and landed a solid thudding punch right to Fett's solar plexus. "If this is the best you can do, it's no wonder the Haat'ade died on Galidraan! You're no Mandalore! You could _never_ be Mandalore!" Vizsla taunted. Fett stumbled back and Vizsla laughed, a cruel thing that reminded Zena of mob bosses right before they started torturing their slaves (or Jedi whose covers were blown). 

And stars if that taunt didn't get a reaction out of Fett. 

In a way, Zena was glad that Fett roared and immediately launched into a vicious series of blows. The surge of white hot rage helped chase away darker memories, helped keep her focused on maintaining the appearance of some drugged, dumb Corellian caught up in a Mandalorian tiff. 

Zena could only watch as Fett's anger made him visibly sloppy, and if that wasn't a perfect example of why anger was never the answer, Zena would be hard pressed to think of a better one. Especially as Vizsla twisted Fett's arm behind his back. 

Fett stomped on Vizsla's foot and shoved himself free. Vizla grinned viciously when Fett stumbled, brandishing the wickedly long spike extending from one vambrace. "Feeling a bit dizzy, Fett?" he taunted, "You'll be dead in an hour." 

Alarm slammed into Zena's shields. "Jango!" the busboy shouted. 

"Nnnaysh, Ob-ika!" Fett slurred. The busboy froze in his attempts to approach the pair, and Zena carefully turned to catch the boy in her peripheral, watching indecision and concern war across the young face. 

"Ob'ika, huh? Found yourself a little pet?" Vizsla asked and snorted at Fett's sluggish glare. "I should gut him," and that was another thing Zena was worried she would have to stop. "I'll even let you watch," he promised, firing his whipcord at Fett. 

Fett stumbled away from the cable, but had to brace himself against the follow up smattering of darts. The Force trilled a sudden warning, and Zena hastily drew the Force around her as Vizsla pivoted, firing a second wrist rocket at the kid. 

She needn't have worried, though, as the boy thrust both hands out and _deflected the missile into the bar with the Force._ Zena nearly choked, only years of training and discipline (and maybe the fact no one was looking at her) allowing her to keep her drugged cover. 

So maybe the kid wasn't Force-null. That would certainly explain why he was so loud. 

She carefully extended her Force sense, brushing against the edges of the boy. His shields were rough, but she could clearly recognize the early framework Master Orden's training instilled, neat and tidy and with all the markers of actual, formal training instead of the slapdash work EduCorps often had to do. Had the Temple lost an Initiate or Junior Padawan recently? If so, she hadn't heard about it. 

She should report this. 

Should she grab the kid? The kid had ample opportunity to escape during this fight, and he didn't seem to be in a rush to take it. Maybe the kid had voluntarily left the Order? It was rare, but not unheard of for kids to decide to return to their families. Without seeing Fett's face, she had no way to tell if they were family or not. 

But maybe Fett had something on the kid keeping him here. Force sensitives \- especially those with any amount of training - were worth small fortunes in the right markets. 

Should she plant a tracker on the kid? Dumb question, of course she should plant a tracker. If the kid was there voluntarily, the Order could turn the damn thing off and plead ignorance. 

Now how could she get a tracking beacon on a kid long enough for it to be useful? 

A strangled scream broke her from her musings, and damnit if this drug didn't get out of her system soon she was definitely going to die tonight. Fett stood over Vizsla, a vibroblade clenched in one fist, as blood and guts poured out of a wide slash practically bisecting the man. Zena allowed herself to slowly close her eyes, mourning the soon-to-be-dead man's passing. 

Even if Vizsla was a bundle of red flags flapping in the breeze, a life was a life. And life was meant to be mourned when it returned to the Force. 

"Kyr'tsad!" Fett shouted, his earlier slurring mostly gone, and Zena's eyes snapped open at the sound. The Force sensitive busboy was tucked up against the Mandalorian's side, supporting his sagging weight with a determination and care that told Zena she likely would not need to figure out the tracker. 

But she would still have to report this. Why did the Force have to pick _her_ to witness this shit show? 

"Gar ranov'la Mand'alor," and Fett spat the word like it was a personal affront, though what problem a Mandalorian would have with Mandalore, Zena could only guess, "Ru'jurkad adiik vaal ori'akaan! Tor Vizsla dar'manda, _demagolka_. Ni Jango Fett, haar Mand'alor. Ke'dinuir gar verbur ra ash'amur." 

Zena really wished she had paid more attention to galactic languages as a Padawan. She knew Fett was speaking Mando'a, but beyond one or two insults, presumably aimed at the man dying at Fett's feet, she could only guess at what was being said. 

Kark, she wished she knew more than Basic and Huttese. 

The sentiment only grew as a dark haired Mandalorian shakily rose to her feet only to immediately crash onto her knees in an unsteady kneel. "Wren'aliit moti gar." 

All around the cantina, Mandalorians fell into rough kneeling poses, repeating the same general phrase. It was a pledge of loyalty - possibly even fealty - that highlighted exactly how much Zena was intruding on Mandalorian business. She swallowed uncertainly and slowly wove the Force to fade into the shadows. 

It was a good thing the Force sensitive boy was so thoroughly distracted by Fett. Depending on how well trained the boy was and how much attention he was paying to the Force, it was entirely possible the boy would notice her vanishing. 

She was not the only person not kneeling, at least. A few Mandalorians remained stubbornly seated, and the weequay bartenders were conspicuously lounging throughout the cantina. She focused on projecting _unremarkable_ and _forget-I-was-here_ as Fett's helmet slowly took in the cantina, and breathed a sigh of relief as the T-slit visor passed over her without pausing. 

She might just escape this disaster of a night unscathed. 

A faint tingle in the Force - a warning, but not for her - was all she got before Fett gave a terse nod and blasterfire erupted around her. Those Mandos still seated slumped over in their seats, dead. 

_Force_ . 

She was so fucked. 

She drew the Force tighter around her, using all her training to disappear like a whisper in a Coruscanti night club. Fett was speaking again, all eyes firmly locked on him, and Zena took the chance to carefully slip out of the cantina. 

(She didn't breathe easy until she was safely ensconced in her shitty apartment three hours later.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Obi-Wan fully over trying to reconcile his Jedi upbringing with Jango's cold ways? No. I believe change is incremental and slow, and both Obi-Wan and Jango are working towards meeting in the middle. It will take work on both their parts, but they're trying. And speaking of trying, Jango realized he put himself and Obi-Wan through unnecessary pain by not communicating. He's trying to do better now!
> 
> I didn't realize until after this chapter was finished that Zena sounds like Xena. Zena is not a warrior princess (though you're welcome to envision her as such), the name came from a random name generator.
> 
> I've been trying to post about a chapter a week for the last few weeks, but the next several chapters are refusing to cooperate and I've now run out of pre-written (waiting to be edited) chapters. Hopefully the problems resolve themselves in a timely fashion and I can return to regularly scheduled updates.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Ne'pare = no wait/no hesitation  
> Ori'vod(e) = big sibling(s)  
> Vod'ika/e = little sibling(s)  
> Kyr'tsad = Death Watch  
> Gar ranov'la Mand'alor = Your secret Mand'alor  
> Ru'jurkad adiik vaal ori'akaan = Attacked a child during a Challenge. Ori'akaan literally means "big-fight/war" which seems like a decent shorthand way of saying very important battle  
> Tor Vizsla dar'manda, demagolka = Tor Vizsla is dar'manda, a demagolka. Dar'manda is a state of being not-Mandalorian. It's regarded with dread by traditionally minded Mandalorians. A demagolka is a monster or war criminal, named after a notorious Mandalorian scientist who experimented on children during the Old Republic  
> Ni Jango Fett, haar Mand'alor = I am Jango Fett, the (emphatic) Mand'alor  
> Ke'dinuir gar verbur ra ash'amur = Give your loyalty or die. Ash'amur is used for dying violently in battle, so Jango is threatening to murder anyone who doesn't follow him  
> Wren'aliit moti gar = Clan Wren stands with you


	6. Friends and Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety kept me from thoroughly editing this, so if you see any errors please let me know!

Jango focused on his breathing, on keeping the rage and the hurt and the fury tamped down where Obi-Wan could not sense it and would not send him wide-eyed looks. It was _fine._ Everything was fine. Tor Vizsla and his traitors were dead by Jango's own hand.

But at the same time, he would recognize this ship under any circumstance.

How many years had he spent on this ship with his buir? How many jobs had they taken? How many training sessions, strategy sessions, latemeals, and birthdays had they shared on this ship?

Vizsla may have changed the paint and ripped out every symbol of the Haat'ade, but Jango recognized Jaster Mereel's AIAT/i.

"Jango?" Obi-Wan asked, hovering next to his elbow. The kid had hardly left his side since the fight despite the swift application of bacta and broad spectrum anti-poisons. It was sweet, but Jango was hardly going to die and leave his vod'ika alone that easily.

Jango opened his mouth to reply, but found the words stuck in his throat. He shook his head and tried again, "I recognize this ship."

"Oh," Obi-Wan eloquently said.

"My buir had this ship. Vizsla must have stolen it after," Galidraan, he trailed off and didn't say.

Obi-Wan fidgeted for a moment. "Well, we could… take it?" he suggested with a grimace, voice lilting up uncertainly. "It's not like Kyr'tsad would care, and you were wanting a new ship."

Jango nodded. He had already planned on doing just that, but it was good Obi-Wan wouldn't have another moral crisis over it. "You know how to slice past the security system?"

He did not. Apparently slicing was tantamount to stealing for Jedi or some bathakark, which was ridiculous since Jango knew for a fact that many Jettise knew how to hotwire speeders and slip through all sorts of locked doors. The kid was a quick study, though, and Jango took a note to give him more opportunity to practice.

It was one of those skills that could save his life one day. He would be a piss-poor ori'vod if he _didn't_ teach Obi-Wan such things.

"Stay here while I disable any traps," Jango ordered before entering the troop transport, leaving a pouting Obi-Wan behind.

The Ka'ra were in Jango's favor for once. The stylized shriek-hawk of Clan Vizsla was plastered across every deck and the cabins were filled with all sorts of sadistic tools of torture, but he had to admit that nothing inside would unexpectedly kill Obi-Wan and it was safe enough for him to enter their new home.

Of course, the kid entered with his pirate escort in tow.

"Jango! I see you have already partaken in the spoils of our latest heist!" Hondo shouted as he took in the holotable and crash benches. A greedy gleam lit the weequay's beady eyes, "We shall consider ourselves even!"

Jango gave the pirate a flat look. "No. You will pay us our share for Galidraan or buy us paint and supplies on Corellia. There are other ships. That is your portion. You are not deducting the value of this ship from what you owe us."

Hondo frowned and rebutted, "But this is the largest ship, and there were expenses involved with the cantina."

Jango shifted so his hand hovered closer to his blaster, fully prepared to _explain_ exactly how generous he was being by demanding only the bare necessities instead of a sizeable chunk of the nearly hundred thousand credits the pirates had raided from the governor's palace.

Obi-Wan sighed dramatically as he pushed his way between the two. "Don't kill each other, and call me when you've worked it all out. I'll be exploring."

Jango nodded and ignored the brief flash of jealousy he felt at Hondo's fond look.

In the end, Hondo did agree to buy paint, supplies, fuel, and enough weapons to make Jango sleep happy. The pirate was still making out with a king's ransom, but Jango had everything he needed and he considered the slight loss an investment in future favors with the pirate.

The afternoon blurred in a mess of errands. The pirates were surprisingly well connected, easily fencing their furs and precious stones for more credits than Jango expected (and making him wonder if he had accidentally lowballed their deal). Paint and basic shipboard necessities were easy enough to acquire, but clothes, of all things, seemed to be the sticking point.

Jango wanted armorweave for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan wanted the plainest rough-spun tunics he could find. Armorweave was surprisingly difficult to find - something about Keldabe being unable to keep up with demand - and Obi-Wan took that as reason enough to fixate on a durable flight suit instead.

"Are you being difficult out of spite?" Jango asked exasperatedly.

"No!" the lying imp squeaked, grey eyes wide and guileless.

Jango gave him a look that clearly said he wasn't buying it. Obi-Wan smiled innocently, and Jango was startled at how well his vod'ika could guess his expressions behind his helmet.

"Why don't you want armorweave?"

"Why do I need armorweave?" Obi-Wan shot back. "It's too expensive, and it's not that much better than most fabrics."

"Who told you that?" Jango demanded. Obi-Wan's mouth clicked shut and Jango shook his head. "Good armorweave can stop most cutting edges and dissipate small blaster rounds."

"Yeah, but that's expensive," Obi-Wan muttered.

Jango sighed. "Kid, I'm trying to _protect_ you. That's worth all the credits in the galaxy. Now pick your damn color."

Obi-Wan glared but settled on the cheapest color he could get - an undyed neutral gray derived mostly from the metal alloys woven into the bleached fabric. Jango fought the urge to sigh at the kid's decision, especially when it barely knocked a handful of credits off the final price, but let it go. One day he would get the kid to live more like a sentient and less like a monk.

They returned to the ships for latemeal and a few rounds of sabacc, wherein Obi-Wan successfully bet Hondo and his crew into helping repaint their new ship. Jango kept his amusement well-hidden throughout the round, knowing the pirates had fully intended to vanish after winning back Jango's payday.

The next morning dawned bright and early to the sound of Obi-Wan's screams. Jango scrambled to wake him before gently wrapping the kid in a hug, rubbing his back until his tremors settled and Jango's own heartrate returned to something resembling normal.

"Me'vaar ti gar?" Jango asked gently, leaning on the Mando'a phrase to simultaneously ask 'Are you okay?' and 'What was that?'

Obi-Wan hesitated, nibbling on his lower lip and making Jango's concern spike.

"Talk to me," he ordered before softening slightly. "It may help. What were you dreaming of?"

Obi-Wan hesitated again. "It was nothing. I'm fine," he insisted.

"I'll believe that when there's a clear day on the Lower Levels," Jango retorted.

The kid scrunched his nose up before sighing. "It really was nothing. I was just remembering Bandomeer."

"Bandomeer?" Jango prompted, unfamiliar with the name.

"It's a mining planet in the Outer Rim. It's… where I was… assigned before Xanatos…" Obi-Wan trailed off. Jango squeezed him in a tighter hug, silent recognition for Obi-Wan's bravery and struggle.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me any more," Jango stated. He had told him enough anyways.

Bandomeer. Xanatos.

Obi-Wan nodded, hair mussing itself against Jango's shoulder, before he pulled back. Jango studied him, taking in the slightly panicky look in his eyes and determination to keep moving on. He ruffled his vod'ika's hair and snorted at the kid's scandalized expression under the untidy mop. "Last one to get ready has to wake Sabo."

"Oh _kriff_ no! He bites!" Obi-Wan shouted, scrambling for his feet and racing to the fresher.

Jango laughed and dragged himself to the galley. The kid would be a while, which would give him a chance to prepare firstmeal and start a bit of research.

He had work to do.

-0-

The Force had been with him when he made the bet that kept Hondo and his crew around for another week. The additional hands made painting the newly dubbed _Jaster's Legacy_ far more pleasant, and Obi-Wan was self-aware enough to admit that he liked spending the extra few days with the overdramatic weequays.

He was going to miss the crazy pirates.

"Bye Hondo, bye Sabo, bye Parsel," Obi-Wan said, waving.

"My little pickpocket! Oh, how I shall miss the profits we could have made together," Hondo wailed, arms flung wide for a hug as he approached. "I expect a call from you at least once every tenday," he stated firmly, or as firmly as the pirate could, as his arms wrapped around Obi-Wan's shoulders. Obi-Wan pulled out of the hug and gave him a flat look. "Don't give me that look," he moaned, "How else will I know you're growing into the second greatest pirate this side of the galaxy?"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and laughed. "I'll call, Hondo, but I won't promise to become a good pirate."

Hondo clutched his chest and stumbled back a half step as if Obi-Wan had thrust a vibroknife into his breastbone and gasped, "Oh, the shame, the horror, the--"

"That's enough. We have business to attend to," Jango interrupted. "Vod'ika, are you ready?"

"Yep!" Obi-Wan chirped, following the Mandalorian to their ship. "Bye everyone! I'll miss you," he called right before hitting the ramp close button, waving until the weequays were sealed outside.

Obi-Wan sighed, releasing the unexpected sadness he felt at their parting to the Force. He had grown fond of the melodramatic pirates, drinking and cavorting and dubious morals and all, and he thought they had grown fond of him in turn.

"Have you learned how to fly a ship?" Jango interrupted, as he tucked his buy'ce under one arm.

"We learned a bit of astronav and were practicing in simple sims, but I haven't learned take offs or landings," Obi-Wan answered and winced slightly. "Haven't had the greatest luck with landings," he admitted.

Jango hummed and led the way into the cockpit. "Time for you to learn, then. Strap in."

Obi-Wan slid into the co-pilot's seat and attached the crash webbing. At Jango's prompting, he went through the (lengthy) pre-flight checklist, doing his best to commit every step to memory while knowing he would forget half of the items. And when Jango nodded, he flipped the ignition and fired the thrusters.

The ship shuddered, the vibration carrying through his seat to rattle Obi-Wan's teeth, but obediently rose into the air. From that moment, it was a lot more like the sims, gently guiding the ship out of atmo and into space.

"Excellent work," Jango stated as they reached the edge of Corellia's gravity well and Obi-Wan killed the sublights. Obi-Wan blushed; he had only done so well because Jango had walked him through every step. "Now let's plot a course for Gala," he said, punching a few buttons. The screen in front of Obi-Wan changed from an empty targeting screen to a galactic map.

"Gala," Obi-Wan repeated thoughtfully, trying to remember what quadrant that planet existed in. He drew a blank, but kept scrolling through the sectors in hopes something would pop up. A proximity sensor pinged, likely Hondo and his crew leaving Corellia for whatever ridiculous scheme they dreamt up next, and Obi-Wan scowled at the screen.

He still had no idea where Gala was.

"Outer Rim," Jango prompted helpfully. Obi-Wan quickly filtered for that parameter, but still couldn't find it. Why was he so bad at this? "Along the Salin Corridor."

"Oh!" Obi-Wan exclaimed as he finally found the planet. "In the Nuiri Sector."

Jango nodded silently, emotions perfectly hidden behind his shields, and Obi-Wan chewed on his lip as he punched in the coordinates and set the navicomp to calculate the jump. Before Obi-Wan could pull the lever to launch them into hyperspace, Jango caught his hand and guided it away.

"Do you know how to run the calculations manually?" he asked, voice shifting into a cadence Obi-Wan generally associated with the teaching masters. Obi-Wan shrugged. He _theoretically_ knew how to calculate a path manually, but he was terrible at it and the odds of him crashing into a star were pretty high.

"There is a time for the computer to run the calcs and a time for us. This time doesn't matter, so we'll practice a manual jump. Do you know why a manual jump would be better?"

Obi-Wan thought for a moment and guessed, "Shorter route?"

"Or faster. Navicomps are designed to calculate the safest route with the maximum probability of getting you to your destination in one piece. If you know your maps, you can knock days off your travel time," Jango agreed. "Pull up a star chart."

They sat there, drifting listlessly in space, for several hours as Obi-Wan meticulously ran the calculations under Jango's watchful eye, then ran them three more times just to be certain. The man seemed amused at Obi-Wan's paranoia, but Obi-Wan didn't let his brief embarrassment stop him.

He would _not_ launch them through a planet on his first manual jump.

With Jango's approval, Obi-Wan scrambled back into the co-pilot's seat and opened the navicomp menu. He froze as his eye caught one corner of the screen.

"Ob'ika?" Jango prompted.

Obi-Wan struggled to swallow and tore his gaze away from the date stamp. "It's nothing," he choked out, opening the appropriate screen and punching in the modified route.

A heavy weight of expectation descended on the cabin, and Obi-Wan frowned. He knew Jango would wait until he was ready to talk, but he still hadn't forgotten that week they spent needlessly avoiding each other. But this wasn't anywhere close to that conversation. This was just him being a dumb kid.

It didn't matter. Really.

He had Jango now.

He didn't need to become a Jedi. _Really._ And Jango wouldn't leave him, right?

"If you're sure," Jango said, tone implying Jango knew Obi-Wan was very not sure.

Obi-Wan folded. "It's late Kadhara," he admitted softly.

"'Lek," Jango agreed easily, patiently, not even caring that Obi-Wan had barely begun entering their current location, let alone the various waypoints they would need to hit.

He flushed, finished entering their route, and reached for the lever. _Jaster's Legacy_ leapt into hyperspace and Obi-Wan relaxed into his seat, fidgeting with the crash webbing.

Jango sighed. "What is it, Ob'ika?"

"It's nothing, sorry for disturbing you," Obi-Wan said, finally releasing himself from the webbing and rising to his feet.

A gloved hand shot out and caught his wrist as he turned to leave. "Obi-Wan," he said, gentle voice demanding Obi-Wan's attention. "You are not disturbing me, but something is clearly disturbing you. What is it?" Obi-Wan hesitated, and Jango must have read it in his face because he continued. "Ob'ika, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. Let me help you, gedet'ye."

"I turned thirteen a little over a month ago," Obi-Wan reluctantly admitted, pulling his wrist free. A little over a month ago they had both been _there,_ in _that_ place, freezing their fingers and toes off as they painstakingly turned ryll ore into a fine powder.

Jango stilled next to him, and Obi-Wan could feel the conflict brewing behind his perfectly level expression. Disappointment, sorrow, happiness, hurt, surprise. The emotions mirrored his own well enough it was hard to distinguish where his ended and Jango's began.

Obi-Wan bit his tongue. "N'eparavu miite," he mumbled, wishing he could literally eat his words instead of merely apologizing for them. Jango didn't deserve his melancholy.

"Ob'ika," Jango murmured. Obi-Wan glanced at him and was surprised to see the beginnings of a sad smile tugging at Jango's lips. "Briikase du'caryc gote'tuur - happy late birthday - vod'ika," he said, and Obi-Wan could feel the man's sincere good wishes wrap around him like a hug. "Thirteen is a very important age to a Mando'ad. You're no longer an adiik, and you can take your verd'goten."

"My verd'goten?"

"It's a rite of adulthood. Adike train for years to take the verd'goten, and when they pass they are considered adults," Jango explained, not noticing Obi-Wan's spike of terror. If he was an adult, what did that mean for him and Jango? Jango flipped a few switches and pulled the navicomp up on his screen before continuing, "I didn't realize your birthday was so close. We'll have to change plans to celebrate."

"Celebrate?" Obi-Wan asked tentatively.

"Of course. I've been meaning to test your skills anyways so we can start training. It's possible you already know enough to pass," Jango admitted almost to himself. "You go enjoy yourself. I've got a new course to plot."

Obi-Wan fidgeted. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

Jango smirked, "Do you want to know or would you rather a surprise?"

Obi-Wan bit his lip, not sure what he wanted.

"Ob'ika?" Jango asked, glancing over. The mischievous look on his face immediately melted into a look of concern, and he turned to fully face Obi-Wan. "Are you okay?" he asked, gears spinning behind his worried brown eyes. "Is this about the verd'goten? Being thirteen means you can take it, not that you have to."

Obi-Wan nodded and tried to use that knowledge to ease his worries. He didn't _have_ to take it. He didn't _have_ to become an adult yet. He didn't _have_ to leave Jango.

Jango frowned, head tilting to the side as he studied Obi-Wan. "You know you'll still be my vod'ika, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Obi-Wan said before forcing a smile on his face. "I'll take the surprise, please."

-0-

Mace groaned as he rubbed his temples, and immediately reached out to the Force to check if anyone noticed. He relaxed as he realized the nearest sentient was still a whole hallway away, tension bleeding out of his shoulders and back.

He was proud to serve his fellow Jedi on the Council - he was, really! - but Force _damn_ it was like working in a creche some days.

Of course, it would be easier if certain Masters learned to fill out their kriffing mission reports properly. It was easy! Just fill out the form, submit it, and don't leave anything out or else all twelve councilors had to find time to debrief the Jedi in person. And sure, sometimes it made sense to debrief in person. Sometimes, the Council would elect to have a Master-Padawan pair debrief in person for the Padawan's benefit. But sometimes, the Council just wanted a kriffing break from the same kriffing lazy ass Masters who couldn't be assed enough to fill out their Force damned paperwork.

Mace blew out a frustrated sigh and reached for the Force, letting the gently shifting waves of light and dark blunt the blistering edge of his anger.

(He would not punch Master Coth in the face. He would _not._ But if he ever found that master in the training salles, he could make no promises what would happen.)

He sighed again. Master Coth had been the final straw on a litany of frustrating reports, and the venerable Master did not deserve Mace's (full) ire. It had simply been difficult to focus on trivial reports after that one report…

Knight Arkman was a skilled Shadow - observant, talented with the Force, and possessed a healthy survival instinct critical for those Jedi assigned on some of the Darkest missions - so when her report of some Mandalorian and a Force sensitive kid shooting up a bar in Corellia crossed the 'net to land before the Council, Mace took note.

Of course, certain Councilors wanted to dispatch Knights to take care of the budding Dark Sider immediately, but Mace (among others) had reservations. Namely, that Knight Arkman believed the kid had been trained.

Now, this did not guarantee the kid would not Fall (assuming, of course, the kid hadn't Fallen already. And that was a point Master Piell seemed rather skeptical on), but it did raise more questions Mace wanted answered. Who had trained the kid? Where had the kid trained? ~~Was Knight Arkman's assessment trustworthy?~~

~~Of course it had to be trustworthy. If the Council could not trust their own Jedi in the field, who _could_ they trust? ~~

There were just too many questions to eliminate the kid out of hand. Master T'un and his Green Jedi counterpart insisted neither Temple was missing an initiate or padawan matching Knight Arkman's mystery child, which could mean any number of rogue elements were running around the galaxy now. Was this a student of the Lost Twenty? Had they stumbled upon a new Force sect?

They needed to find the kid and get some kriffing answers, but of-kriffing-course, the Force would not provide. No, instead the Council wasted their time arguing down a violent kneejerk reaction and then Master look-at-me-I'm-too-good-for-written-reports-so-you-have-to-listen-to-them-in-person Coth arrived to deliver his verbal report.

And that had been the whole morning session.

They needed to finish building a plan for how to investigate Knight Arkman's report, but Mace had the sinking suspicion they would not get to that item for a while. Master Yoda, Master of the Order and the only Councilor who could rearrange priority on the agenda, seemed oddly at ease with the mystery, which meant the next time the topic could come up would be… at least a week away.

Mace breathed deeply and focused on the Force. He was calm. He was at peace. He was objective. He was not furious or angry or impatient or frustrated about the situation.

(Who was he kriffing kidding? Of course he was frustrated. He could feel the edge of a shatterpoint hovering around the topic, and it only made sense one would do so. The last time he had heard of a Mandalorian and a Force sensitive cavorting together across the stars there had been a _kriffing Sith Empire_ tearing down the Republic.)

Everything was fine. The Force was with him, the Temple was at peace, Hells, the _galaxy_ was at peace. If the Sith had returned, they would know. Everything was _fine._

Mace groaned as he massaged his temples before checking his chrono. Twenty till. Still enough time to grab something from the refectory and sneak back into the Council Spire before the afternoon session.

The walk to the refectory was exactly what Mace needed, he found. The handful of knights and masters wandering the halls were all respectful, and the gentle peace all Jedi were trained to radiate eased the last tension from his shoulders. Midmeal itself was also surprisingly agreeable now that the kitchen decided tubers were _not_ a staple that had to be consumed in increasingly creative dishes morning, noon, and night.

All told, Mace was feeling a little more human by the time he dragged himself back to the Council Spire. He nodded professionally to the older Masters (which, admittedly, were all of them) as he took his seat, neatly arranging his robes for maximum effect.

By some miracle of the Force, his perfect calm lasted almost to the end of the day. Not even Master Tholme and his rambunctious padawan rattled him. But, because good things must come to an end and because the Force must secretly hate him, it all had to come crashing down with the last supplicant.

"I thought you were still on medical leave," Mace blurted as Qui-Gon Jinn entered the chamber.

The tall human looked baffled for a split second before a self-deprecating smile crossed his face. He bowed deeply - a mockery of some sort, Mace suspected, since it was the sort of petty thing Qui-Gon would do and it was very unlike the human to bow that deeply to the Council - and explained, "Master Che cleared me an hour ago."

Such dedication, Mace sarcastically thought. More likely, the man wanted to escape back outside the Core before Yoda successfully saddled him with some poor, unsuspecting padawan.

"I see," Mace stated evenly. "Congratulations on your recovery. We should meet after this session to celebrate."

Qui-Gon dipped his head in agreement, smile shifting into something a bit more warm.

"An assignment, you seek, hmm?" Yoda asked. "An assignment you had. Failed it, you did, and lost an initiate, we did."

Mace blinked at the old master, surprised at the disapproving tone. The troll had always had a soft spot for his lineage, and Mace had never heard him chide a member of his lineage before. He glanced at Qui-Gon to see the normally unflappable man caught off-guard.

"This is true," Qui-Gon agreed, a mournful note just coloring his otherwise even tone.

"Ready, are you? For another assignment, so soon after your last failure?" Yoda prodded.

Qui-Gon inclined his head once more. "Bandomeer was a terrible mistake, but I have learned from the past and am ready to face the future. I serve the Force, and the Force tells me I am needed in the galaxy."

Yoda hummed in agreement, settling back from his questioning. Mace took that as his queue.

"There is an assignment that would fit your skillset. It should be routine, to help ease you back onto missions," Mace opened, ignoring the exasperated look Qui-Gon sent both him and Yoda. Mace hid the vicious glare he wanted to unleash behind a baleful look. If the stubborn man didn't want an easy mission, he shouldn't have spent more than a month getting his ribcage and the squishy organs it protects rebuilt. "The Senate has requested Jedi oversight for the first elections on the Outer Rim planet Gala…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Buir = parent  
> Haat'ad(e) = True Mandalorian(s)  
> Vod'ika = little brother  
> Jetii(se) = Jedi (pl)  
> Ka'ra = stars/Mandalorian god/spirit that all dead Mand'alore join  
> Me'vaar ti gar? = How are you? Also used to demand a sitrep  
> Gedet'ye = please  
> N'eparavu miite = sorry, lit. I eat my words  
> Briikase du'caryc gote'tuur = happy late birthday  
> Mando'ad = Mandalorian  
> Adiik/adike = child(ren) age 3-13  
> Verd'goten = rite of adulthood


	7. The Best Gift a Man Can Get

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're familiar with Jedi Apprentice 4: The Mark of the Crown, you can probably skip the Qui-Gon section. I needed to introduce Gala and the setup is pretty similar to that book, so if you know that part you should be good to go.
> 
> Also, I know there's a lot of questions about how/why the Council seems oblivious to Obi-Wan's absence. There is a reason. Is it a _good_ reason? Ehh… we'll see. If my outline holds true, there should be a clarification in about 2 more chapters

Obi-Wan shuffled into the galley, yawning widely, and fumbled for the caf. It was still early in the night cycle, but he knew he would not be going back to sleep any time soon. 

Maybe it was nightmares, maybe it was anxiety about his birthday, or maybe it was the unfamiliar bunk, but it had been hard to settle down long enough to sleep since they had left Corellia. Some urgent _need_ itched under his skin and made it hard to sit still, no matter how much he meditated or how many times he ran through his katas. 

He knew the restless nights were worrying Jango, but he couldn't help it. No matter what they tried - private room, shared room, sleeping pile, raised bunk, floor pallet - he was up and moving within hours of passing out. He had gotten quite good at extracting himself from his sleeping pallet without waking Jango. 

Part of him missed Hondo and the other weequay pirates, despite how much happier Jango felt aboard their own vessel. They made for entertaining company, no matter what hour it was, and were always happy to share a story or a game of sabacc with him. 

He sipped at the caf and moved to the galley bench, absently noting that they really needed to replace the upholstery. Whatever Vizsla had used the bench for in the past, it was now stained with what Obi-Wan strongly suspected was blood. Or he hoped was blood. 

He really hoped it was just blood and not something more unpleasant, like brain matter. 

He got up and paced, absently sipping at his caf until the mug was empty. And when he ran out of caf, he fetched the shiny datapad Hondo had been bullied into buying and stared at the education modules Jango had assigned him until the words swam across the page and his head sagged onto the table. He startled awake at the feel of a blanket dropping around his shoulders. 

"Jate var'tuur, Ob'ika," Jango greeted with a teasing smile. "You know I wasn't expecting that to be done for another day, right? You don't need to stay up all night working on it for me." 

Obi-Wan blushed and wiped at the bit of drool that had leaked out of the corner of his mouth. "I know. I wasn't." 

Jango hummed low in his chest, a concerned look crossing his face. "Nightmares?" 

Obi-Wan shrugged noncommittally. 

"How about you try taking a nap? We'll be exiting hyperspace in a few hours," Jango suggested. "You'll want to be awake for our destination." 

He considered it for a moment, but the _itch_ was back. "Not tired enough for that. Can we spar instead?" Obi-Wan asked. 

"After breakfast," Jango agreed, turning away to prepare two bowls of grains and dried fruit before Obi-Wan could properly express his distaste or lack of appetite. 

He choked down enough food to satisfy Jango before dragging the older man down two decks to the training room. The two fell into their warm-ups and from there into the easy back-and-forth of a spar. Obi-Wan knew Jango was not going all out - their individual skill levels were too disparate for that - but it was only a matter of time before Obi-Wan would catch up. He had the Force and determination, and Jango was more than happy to help Obi-Wan close the gap. 

(Obi-Wan tried not to worry too much about when that day came. If Jango didn't have anything left to teach him-- But he needed the training. How was he supposed to make his way in the galaxy without it?) 

One of the panels on Jango's vambrace lit up, signaling the end of their hyperspace journey. Jango took Obi-Wan's momentary distraction to deflect and catch his arm mid-punch, using it to pivot and pin him to the deck. Obi-Wan groaned and went limp in defeat before accepting Jango's help back to his feet. 

"Better, Ob'ika," Jango praised, and Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. He had lasted a little longer that time. "Now get to the cockpit. I want you to set us down." 

Obi-Wan nervously agreed and scrambled up the ladder to the flight deck, Jango at his heels. The proximity alarm trilled and Obi-Wan hastily took his seat, sliding the lever forward to pull the _Legacy_ out of hyperspace. 

"Welcome to Concord Dawn," Jango said reverently, eyes fixed on the golden planet suspended in the viewport. 

"I've never heard of it before," Obi-Wan admitted hesitantly. 

"That's unsurprising. It's a frontier planet in the Mandalore sector, independent of the Republic. I wouldn't expect you to know it," Jango stated as Obi-Wan carefully guided the ship into atmosphere. "I was born here." 

Obi-Wan let out a soft exclamation, more a huff of air than any real vocalization, and sat up a little straighter. Concord Dawn, from what he could see as they flew overhead, was very tan. Beige deserts stretched across huge swathes of the planet, with a handful of gold-hued forests sprouting in clumps near the oceans. Golden fields waved in the breeze, their perfect rows broken periodically by squat, tan homesteads. 

"See that home over there? Set us down just outside it," Jango stated, pointing towards a homestead barely visible through the encroaching wheat. 

Obi-Wan nodded tersely, and tried to gently guide the ship in that direction. 

"A little sharper, Ob'ika," Jango corrected. "Too much!" he exclaimed, knuckles white on the armrests as the ship jerked suddenly. 

"I'm sorry!" Obi-Wan blurted, twisting the controls back towards nominal position. The _Legacy_ shuddered as it twisted in the air, and Obi-Wan struggled to keep his emotions steady as the ship leapt out of his control. He frowned, upset, even as he struggled to bring the thing back to a gentle descent. 

"It's okay," Jango soothed. "You're fine, everything's fine. Easy on the decelerator, and don't forget the landing gear." 

Obi-Wan flipped the landing gear down, making sure to listen for the hydraulic actuators locking into position, as he increased the decelerator. He continued frowning, fighting back frustrated tears, even as the ship rapidly bled off speed, and repositioned thrusters for vertical landing. 

Of course he would kark up the first landing he had to do with Jango. 

He let out a shuddery breath - one not too dissimilar from the shakes that had just plagued the _Legacy_ during touch down - as the engines cycled down. 

"We landed, and without damage. That was good. We can work on improving smoothness next time," Jango said, his earlier panic hidden behind his shields. Obi-Wan nodded unhappily. 

They secured the ship and descended the landing ramp, and Obi-Wan was surprised at the pleasantly temperate weather they were greeted with. Given the color of the local fauna, he had assumed it would be either bitterly cold or brutally hot, but it didn't feel too dissimilar from the _Legacy's_ human-optimized climate. 

"This was my family's farm before Kyr'tsad attacked and Jaster took me in," Jango commented far too evenly as he surveyed the landscape. He cleared his throat and dragged his gaze away from the building and towards Obi-Wan. "No one should be living here, and it still makes for a decent base. Some supplies may have even survived." 

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said sadly, projecting comfort and sympathy into the Force. 

"Ob'ika, I don't think you were even alive at the time. Don't apologize for things you had nothing to do with," Jango admonished, old sorrow vanishing under gentle exasperation. "Apologies should mean something, and should only be given if you intend to fix whatever made you apologize in the first place." 

"Um, right," Obi-Wan said, barely biting back a reflexive apology. 

Jango sighed, clearly recognizing the aborted attempt. "This isn't what we came out here to see," Jango stated firmly. "It's time you got your first beskar'gam, and I wanted it to come from the same clan that has outfitted Clan Fett since Mandalore the Ultimate." 

"Really? My own beskar'gam?" Obi-Wan asked excitedly. 

"With plates liberated from Kyr'tsad," Jango confirmed, and Obi-Wan knew there was a vicious smile on his helmeted face. 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. He knew beskar was too valuable to allow Vizsla and the other dead Kyr'tsad commandos' suits to go to waste, but Jango really didn't need to be so gleeful about it. 

"Happy birthday, vod'ika," Jango said warmly. 

Obi-Wan beamed, and a thought crossed his mind. "So when do I get a jetpack like yours?" 

The look Jango shot him could curdle nerf milk at a thousand paces. Obi-Wan smiled innocently back. 

"When I'm certain you won't burn your feet off," Jango said flatly. 

"So next week?" 

"Nice try, ad'ika." 

They left the former Fett homestead to begin the long trek into town. Obi-Wan pestered Jango for stories about Concord Dawn, and was rewarded with a few reluctant tales of hiding in the wheat and hunting pirituale with his buir and vod. The piritual herds had mostly moved on to safer pastures since Jango's childhood, so Obi-Wan could only imagine the creatures as a cross between undomesticated nerfs and banthas. 

The town, Arpat, seemed like it came right out of a frontier holonovella. An eclectic mix of people - mostly human, though there were the odd non-humans hovering on the peripheral - milled around their pourcrete porches, glaring and staring in equal measure at the outsiders. One rodian with a ridiculously wide brimmed hat made a show of stroking the blaster at his hip, and Obi-Wan hastily averted his gaze. 

He sighed in relief when Jango led him into a squat building opposite the general trading post. As the door slid shut behind them, a wave of dry heat slammed into Obi-Wan, and he nearly reflexively backed out of the tiny reception area at the uncomfortable feeling. He mastered that desire, and glanced around the bland storefront. 

Sumpter shoes of varying sizes lined one wall while a collection of hoes, rakes, and plows covered the other wall. A display case held a dozen short vibroknives, all beautifully adorned and barely longer than Obi-Wan's palm. He stared at one the placard claimed had a genuine mythosaur bone hilt and blanched at the price. 

"Be with you in a minute!" a woman shouted from the back. 

A series of clangs and the hissing whoosh of a heavily oxygenated flame going out preceded the arrival of an older, stocky woman with dark curly hair shot through with gray and the golden skin tones of most Concord Dawn natives. She startled at the sight of the two of them but recovered quickly, thumping a closed fist over her chest and bowing her head. "Mand'alor." 

"Su cuy'gar," Jango replied with a slight incline of his head. "I need beskar'gam for a Force sensitive." 

"A Force sensitive?" the lady repeated skeptically, pinning Jango with a hard look. Obi-Wan winced, hearing the stark disapproval in her tone. He barely kept himself from wincing again when she turned her gaze on him before looking back at Jango, suspicion clear on her face. "Have you--" 

"He's my brother," Jango stated defensively. 

The woman studied Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan forced himself to stand tall. Calm. Serene. Not at all nervous. He shifted slightly closer to Jango, drawing on Jango's perfectly level presence for stability. 

"He's a foundling?" she asked deceptively lightly, quirking an eyebrow at Jango. Obi-Wan nearly sighed in relief as her attention shifted away. 

Jango inclined his head. "As many of us are." 

"And he is ready for beskar'gam?" 

"Yes, he is," Jango stated, and Obi-Wan tamped down on the urge to fidget. He had been excited for the beskar'gam, but now, in the face of the armorer's questions, he was less certain. _Was_ he ready for beskar'gam? 

Well, he had built a lightsaber before he was sent to AgriCorps, and a lightsaber was almost as important to Jedi as beskar'gam was to Mandalorians, right? So in a way he had earned something like beskar'gam years ago. 

(He fought the surge of guilt as he realized he didn't actually know where his lightsaber had gone and hadn't even thought about it in weeks. Xanatos must have taken it, and Force knows what had happened to it after that. If he had lost his lightsaber, what would happen to his beskar'gam?) 

The woman nodded deeply. "I trust your judgment, 'Alor," she gravely said before a wistful smile broke across her face, the serious act melting from her shoulders as she sighed happily. "Beskar for a Force sensitive," she trailed off dreamily. "There are techniques and alloys said to reduce beskar's Force dampening properties, but my clan has not needed them since the Fall of the Old Republic. This shall take a while. I have research to do." 

Beskar dampened the Force? He didn't know that. 

"How long?" Jango asked. 

"One month, including fabrication," the woman said airily, and Jango nodded his acceptance, a faint sense of surprise slipping from him. "Longer if I need to source the beskar." 

"Hang on, if beskar dampens the Force and you have beskar beskar'gam, how come I can sense you?" Obi-Wan blurted out, earning himself twin flummoxed looks. 

The woman tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. "I am no expert in the Force, ad'ika, and those Mando'ade who are Force sensitive rarely flaunt it. I expect your ori'vod," she stressed slightly, as if she wanted to use a different word, "would be able to find some if he really searched, but they are few and far between. One of them may be able to answer your question." 

Obi-Wan frowned and put it aside for things to consider later. 

"We have beskar to melt down back on our ship," Jango said, dragging the conversation back on topic. 

"Good, that will make my job easier," the woman said before turning to Obi-Wan. "Come around back to the forge so I can get your measurements. Then we can work out collecting the beskar." 

Obi-Wan nodded and obediently followed the woman behind the counter, Jango hovering a few steps behind. "Why would you have to source beskar? Do you not have enough here?" 

"Not any more," the woman answered with a note of disappointment. "The peacekeepers came through a few years ago and collected most of our beskar, probably to build more of their dome cities on Mandalore," she said derisively. "What Aka'liit remain around here have hidden their beskar ever since." 

The forge was still hot, though the flame was turned low and the basin glowed with melted durasteel. Obi-Wan stood where directed and tried not to fidget as the woman slowly ran a scanner around him, studying the area. Farming equipment sat in varying states of repair next to the forge, and Obi-Wan could clearly see where someone - probably the same woman scanning him - had grown bored of the repetitive facts of frontier living and tried to make either a shoe for a rancor or an artist's interpretation of the birth of the galaxy. 

He sincerely hoped it was the former. Whoever was responsible was a far cry from an artist. 

The scanner beeped, and the woman stepped away. "Scan's done," she stated shortly. "Now, 'Alor, let's talk beskar." 

-0- 

Qui-Gon Jinn stubbornly ignored his frustration with the Council as the public transport cycled through its landing sequence. He pushed himself to his feet, and left his cramped cabin, offering the barest nod of thanks at the steward's cheery, "Thank you for flying with us! We hope to see you again soon!" as he left the ship. 

A welcome party consisting of two richly dressed Galacians awaited him with a private aircar, to his irritation. He had sent a message to Queen Veda before departing Coruscant that he had no need nor interest in such frivolities - he preferred, in fact, to walk on his own two feet whenever practical - but the queen must have missed the memo. 

The Galacian who stepped forward would be almost as tall as he was, if age hadn't stooped the old man. "Welcome, Master Jedi, to Gala. We are honored to have you here," the old man politely lied. 

Qui-Gon smiled tightly. "It is our duty to serve, of course," he replied with a slight bow. "It is my understanding that these elections could not come at a better time." 

"Indeed," the Galacian lied again with an equally tight smile. "I am Debu, Minister of Forestry for Queen Veda. If you would follow me, we shall make haste to the palace so you may speak with the queen in person." 

Qui-Gon feigned confusion, pointedly taking in the clear sky and inhaling the crisp air. "On such a fine day? Thank you, Minister, but I would prefer to walk. My duty here is, of course, to oversee the elections, and how better to do that than to walk among the voters?" 

"Of course," Debu conceded, face giving away none of the irritation Qui-Gon could clearly feel. Qui-Gon smiled politely as the Galacian stormed away, privately recognizing and releasing the stab of satisfaction he felt at irritating politicians. 

He let the Force guide his feet as he wandered through the streets of Galu, the capitol city of Gala, in a meandering path towards the palace. The city was old; the roads twisted and turned according to ancient footpaths later Galacians had simply chosen to pave rather than reformulate, and whole buildings looked to be on the verge of collapse, their stone facades chipped and broken where various insignias and precious materials had been torn away. The distant palace towered over the surrounding city, its glittering blue-green spires a stark contrast to the dull gray stone surrounding him. 

The Force felt tense, sharp, and brittle in a way that hinted at violence erupting at the drop of a pin. Qui-Gon studiously kept the grimace from his face, knowing he would not have been assigned a mission to a place that felt whole and peaceful, but disliking the tension after weeks of Temple serenity. 

He wandered through a large gathering of people carrying signs and chanting campaign slogans split down the middle by the road and an occasional passing aircar. More than a few Galacians screamed at him to vote Deca Brun or Wila Prammi before realizing he lacked the near-luminous skin of a native and therefore couldn't vote. As the realization spread, they immediately began heckling the other party for inciting illegal voting, or some nonsense. 

He was still chuckling to himself over the rallyists' gaff as he entered the richly decorated palace entrance. A Galacian in blue livery scrambled to meet him, leading him through the vaulted corridors and past numerous stunning mosaics to the massive reception hall. 

"Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, Your Highness Queen Veda," the servant declared before bowing and scrambling away. 

Queen Veda was a willowy woman who felt like a ghost in the Force, a barely noticeable whisper despite standing right in front of him. Combined with skin so pale it was practically transparent and thin white hair falling past the elaborate circlet, Qui-Gon couldn't help the slightest frown as he studied Gala's richly dressed ruler. 

Gala's dying ruler. 

"Your Highness," he greeted, bowing. 

"Master Jedi," she returned, waving one hand dismissively. "Leave us!" she ordered the various people milling about the hall before addressing Qui-Gon once more. "Stop with the pleasantries. I'm a dying woman, I don't have time for them." 

Qui-Gon blinked in surprise before a smile spread across his face. Blunt and to the point. He could handle that. "Of course, Your Highness, I would never dream of wasting your time with--" 

"What did I just say?" Queen Veda snapped, and Qui-Gon snapped his mouth shut, recognizing his joke was very unwelcome. The queen pinned him with a hard look for a beat before deciding that Qui-Gon really would comply with her wishes. "Tell me what you know of Gala." 

"Yes, Your Highness," Qui-Gon replied, pausing to gather his thoughts. "Gala is divided between three tribes: the city, hill, and sea people, listed in order of size. You have ruled after your husband, King Cana, passed away a year ago. And now, as you follow him to death, you wish to see democracy established on Gala." 

"Yes, yes, that is all true," Queen Veda agreed. "You walked here, so you know how high tensions are running. I can give the people democracy, or they can give me a revolt. There is no 'wish' or 'choice' in the matter. So what do you know of the candidates?" 

"I ran across supporters for Deca Brun and Wila Prammi," Qui-Gon remarked lightly. "And I know your son, Prince Beju, is the third candidate. I fear that was all the information I was given," he lied, curious to see what the queen would tell him. 

Queen Veda scoffed, mumbling something about providing more information than that before shaking her head. "Deca Brun is a populist, but his platform is flimsy. He promises equality and prosperity, but lacks the experience and plan to make these dreams a reality," she sneered. 

"My son is similarly ill-equipped. To my shame, he has been raised with an expectation that he will be King once he is of age, and being forced to 'grovel for the masses' chafes. I expect he will never forgive me for calling these elections. Still, he has risen to the occasional far better than I expected, and he makes regular trips into the city to drum up support, though I worry he will resort to deceit when he realizes his base is far smaller than the other candidates'. 

"And then there's Wila Prammi. She was one of my husband's underministers, and she campaigns heavily on that experience. Her ideas are sound and I believe she has Gala's best interests at heart, but that same experience is driving anti-monarchists away in droves." 

"You support Wila Prammi, then?" Qui-Gon asked mildly, fighting to keep the surprise from his tone. He had expected a mother to side with her son, regardless of politics, but perhaps he had misunderstood Queen Veda. 

"Prammi? Never," Queen Veda spat. "And even if I could endorse a candidate, there is only one endorsement the people would believe." 

"In my experience, a surprise endorsement often works better than an expected one," Qui-Gon remarked, but Queen Veda shook her head in disagreement. 

"You misunderstand me," Queen Veda stated. "I will not endorse a candidate because I do not believe any of these candidates truly ought to rule." At Qui-Gon's surprised look, she continued. "Before he passed, my husband confessed that he had been married to another woman before me. And though the Council forced them to divorce before a child could, how do I phrase this, _officially_ be conceived, my sources tell me the previous woman returned to her people bearing a child." 

Queen Veda offered a self-deprecating smile. "My husband and I shared an agreement. I never held his previous arrangements against him, and he never held mine against me. Unfortunately, there is a mark that is transferred to the oldest living heir of the Tallah-Beju line." 

"And Prince Beju lacks this mark," Qui-Gon finished. "Does he know?" 

"No," Queen Veda whispered. "I have tried to tell him, but he refuses to listen." 

"If he wins this election, he would become the legitimate ruler of Gala. The lack of this mark wouldn't matter," Qui-Gon pointed out. 

"I am not here to debate you," Queen Veda snapped. "My son is not fit to rule, and that is that. I am dying. I wish to tell my half-daughter of her birthright." 

"Why are you telling me this? Why not send one of your people to retrieve the heir?" 

Queen Veda glared. "You think I haven't tried? Elan is one of the hill people, barbarians who rejected the monarchy and choose to live in the harsh mountains outside the city walls. They raise their own food, have their own healers, and never stay in one place for long. Many of my messengers fail to find them, and those that do turn up dead." 

Ah. Yes. That would do it. 

He should have expected a planet's ruler to be devious enough to summon a neutral third party to her planet for the sole purpose of playing messenger. Force knows Jedi have been requested for less noble reasons than that. 

But he couldn't find himself holding Queen Veda's deception against her. She was a monarchist, as any reigning monarch would be, but she was willing to end a thousand year dynasty for the good of her people. What's more, she was willing to meet _\- peacefully,_ Qui-Gon was certain, since he could sense no ill-will from the queen - with the bastard daughter of her late husband, the one person standing between her son and his true birthright. 

It was admirable, and Qui-Gon felt the early stirrings of sympathy for Elan. A girl with no parents, no family, and no home, forced to always move and never leave roots behind. It reminded him of himself, a man with no parents and no siblings, always traveling across the galaxy in search of the needy and helpless. 

This girl deserved to meet the last link to her father, and she deserved to meet her half-brother. 

And the Galacians deserved to meet the true heir of the Tallah-Beju dynasty. They deserved to choose their ruler from _all_ of the candidates. 

"I see," Qui-Gon stated neutrally. He bowed. "Thank you, Queen Veda, for the explanation. I would like to begin my mission immediately, and begin overseeing these elections by inspecting the candidates." 

"Of course, Master Jedi. I shall have one of my attendants show you your rooms, and then you are free to go about your business," Queen Veda stated regally, pressing a stone on one of her bracelets. Qui-Gon nodded, understanding the unsaid message. 

He would find Elan, and bring her back to her people. 

Unlike the last one, he would not fail this mission. 

-0- 

Obi-Wan gripped the flight yoke in a white knuckled grip, anxious to make this landing better than the last. His approach vector was good, the deflector shields already angled for smooth entry, and black space was quickly fading to the white-blue glow of atmosphere. 

_Jaster's Legacy_ decelerated over its berth cleanly, the landing gear extending for a gentle landing if he just… a sudden gust of wind buffeted the side of the _Legacy,_ and Obi-Wan had to jerk the controls to compensate. He grit his teeth, irritated with himself, as the ship landed with a heavy, groaning thud. 

"Good work," Jango said with an approving smile as he unbuckled himself and donned his buy'ce. Obi-Wan gave his own hesitant smile before following the Mandalorian out of the cockpit. 

"So, what's so special about Gala?" Obi-Wan asked. 

Jango gestured for him to take a seat at the holotable before taking a seat across from him. He fiddled with one of his vambraces for a moment before the holotable sprang to life with a projection of a familiar human male. 

Obi-Wan froze, struggling to swallow. The projection washed most of the color out, but it was impossible not to recognize the dark hair, aristocratic face, and icy blue eyes that occasionally stalked his nightmares. 

The same handsome face that had tormented and sold him. 

_Xanatos._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beskar'kandar is plate armor cast from beskar, used by Sith warriors during one of the Jedi-Sith wars. There's no way Sith marauders would give up their use of the Force, ergo there must be some beskar alloy that doesn't dampen the Force. In this universe, that beskar alloy is softer, slightly less lightsaber-resistant, and significantly more expensive than common alloys, which is why the specific alloy requires some research to find again.
> 
> The armorer never introduced herself to Obi-Wan, but she's Goran (lit. blacksmith/metal worker) of Clan Borakad. She has a real name, but she doesn't like it and will hurt anyone who insists on using it.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Jate var'tuur = good morning  
> Aka'liit = the faithful, or traditional Mandalorians (including both the True Mandalorians and Death Watch)


	8. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a short scene to the very end of the previous chapter. If you don't read it, you may be a little confused at the start of this chapter.

"Xanatos," Obi-Wan whispered, voice cracking as he dragged his gaze away from the sneering face to land desperately on Jango's indifferent helmet. "We're - I'm - hunting _Xanatos?"_ The same guy that beat me and sold me to--

"Easy, Ob'ika. I'll be with you. I won't let him hurt you, but this will be a good test of your hunting skills," Jango soothed.

Obi-Wan felt a flash of anger, quickly buried under horror and… and fear. "Th-this is my verd'goten?" he forced out, barely audible. He dimly realized his hands were clenched and made them grip his knees instead. They trembled.

How long had Jango been plotting this? _Why_ had Jango plotted _this?_

"Yes. I have every faith in you."

"What if I don't want to do this? Can I hunt something else?" Obi-Wan asked. "What about a strill? That's a pretty traditional verd'goten, right? Or-- or, actually, I'm not ready. I don't want to do this."

Jango tilted his head, and Obi-Wan fought back a grimace at the outpouring of concern he could sense from the other. "This is unlike you. Why are you afraid?" Jango asked in reply.

"I'm not afraid!" Obi-Wan protested hotly, and immediately flushed. No, he was afraid. Very afraid. He was a scared little _coward_ who had no hope of hunting down - let alone defeating - a fully trained former-Jedi like _Xanatos._

Jango sighed. "Ob'ika," he started before trailing off. Obi-Wan flinched slightly as Jango's concern faded under a wave of disappointment. "I'm deeply sorry," he said, startling Obi-Wan, "I thought… never mind. If you truly do not want to hunt Xanatos, I won't force you to. You can stay on the ship while I take care of things here."

Obi-Wan blinked a few times and reached out with the Force, sensing nothing but sincerity, regret, and that lingering thread of disappointment-anger that twisted Obi-Wan's gut. He squirmed, disliking being the reason for that emotion. Jango must have been working out where to start this hunt for a while, and now they were going to give up all that hard work because Obi-Wan couldn't get over his own fear.

What kind of Jedi fell to something as silly as _fear?_

He took a deep breath and focused, trying to set it aside. He wouldn't be the reason Jango was disappointed - he _wouldn't_ \- but it was undeniably intimidating to go against a fully trained _Jedi_ , even with Jango by his side.

He could do this. He could finish this hunt and become an adult and prove that he really was strong and smart and capable and could be independent.

(But Force, he wished it wasn't _Xanatos_ he was hunting.)

"Wait a second. You're going to hunt him down anyway, aren't you?" Obi-Wan asked suspiciously, anger sparking in his chest once again.

Jango froze guiltily.

Obi-Wan glared. "This is more revenge, isn't it?" he demanded. "You took care of the people who put _you_ on that ship, and now you're hunting down the people who put me there!"

The Mandalorian's silence was damning.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Jango, I don't want revenge. I knew it was important to you, so I didn't stop you with Galidraan or Kyr'tsad, but this is about me and I don't want it. It wasn't that bad, really."

Jango gave him a disbelieving look behind his helmet. "Really?" he asked skeptically. "Because selling a person, a _child,_ into slavery isn't that bad? A child who still has nightmares from it?"

That was unfair. Obi-Wan hardly remembered the nightmares most nights.

"Well, I don't hold it against him?" Obi-Wan offered weakly.

"And what's to stop him from doing it again? From stealing another child and putting them in another shithole slave pit in the ass-end of dead space? From destroying another planet and murdering thousands on a whim? From--"

"Okay! Fine, you're right, Xanatos is a bad guy who needs to be stopped!" Obi-Wan shouted, heat prickling at the edges of his eyes. He glared at Jango, "But I don't want to kill him. He deserves to face justice for what he's done."

Jango sighed before gently asking, "Obi-Wan, you know he owns most of Judicial, right? If we turn him over to the justice system, he'll be walking free in a week."

Obi-Wan stilled, dread and horror trickling down his spine to pool in his gut. "He… does? You can _do_ that?"

"Credits in the right hands will buy anything, vod'ika," the Mandalorian confirmed sadly.

Obi-Wan frowned, not wanting to believe it, but fearing it was true nonetheless. At the very least, Jango wholeheartedly believed it was true, and it didn't feel like a crock of cynicism and banthashit.

But what about the Jedi? Surely they would prosecute and punish a former Jedi who was doing such terrible things.

Right, like the Jedi were hunting down and taking care of Xanatos right now.

"I'm not going to kill him," Obi-Wan stated stubbornly, fixing a glare on his face for good measure. "He's powerful, right? Powerful enough to buy his way to freedom, no matter how big a court we shove him in?" At Jango's nod, Obi-Wan continued, hope and determination igniting in his chest, "Then I'll tear whatever makes him powerful apart and then we turn him in. If it's credits, then I'll find a way to take it all away. If it's--"

"It's businesses and influence," Jango cut in helpfully. "Offworld Corporation, primarily, though I found a few references to others."

"Then we tear those down. He _is_ doing terrible things, and if people knew how bad it was, he would never be able to recover," Obi-Wan finished.

Jango huffed a small laugh, giving Obi-Wan a fondly amused look positively dripping with indulgence. Obi-Wan glared, determined to prove himself right. "Oya, vod'ika. May this hunt go the way you want it to," because I'll be waiting with a blaster if it doesn't, Jango didn't need to say.

Obi-Wan nodded. May the Force be with him.

He was going to need it.

-0-

Qui-Gon blew out a frustrated sigh as he dragged both palms down his face. He had spent days trudging through the unforgiving frozen Galacian hills to find the legendary Elan, and now…

Well, he _had_ found her, but she was determined to stay with her people, the rest of her planet be damned.

In some ways, her determination only made Qui-Gon sympathize with her more. She was a nomad, with no permanent home and no history to turn to. What did she care if the monarchy ended and democracy was established? Her people were independent and unwanted by the city folk. They had rejected the monarchy before, why wouldn't they reject the Republic-recognized democracy that followed?

It was too bad she was so stubborn. He sensed that this girl - this teenager, barely old enough to vote - had all the makings of a great leader. She was inspirational and clever and as wholly dedicated to her people as her people were to her. With someone like her at the helm, Gala could grow to become a jewel of the Outer Rim.

But no. He had found her (and if he was being perfectly honest, it was more the other way around, seeing as a scouting party led by Elan herself had nearly blasted him into Chandrilan cheese) and had been welcomed into their camp, and that was as far as he got when it came to bridging the gap between city and hill people.

How was he supposed to convince Elan to come back to Galu for the elections?

He groaned to himself as he slowly packed his knapsack. Elan had agreed to not kick him out of the camp until after the snow storm cleared, and Qui-Gon couldn't help but hope a second storm would arrive to delay his departure.

The girl cared for her people. If only he could get her to care for _all_ her people and not just the hill people.

He breathed out and reached for the Force, centering himself in its warm glow. He breathed, sorting his thoughts and opening himself to the Force's guidance.

He could try to _convince_ her, but it was doubtful any Force use would work on such a stubborn character. And a Force suggestion to lead a planet would eventually break down (and lead to all sorts of disastrous consequences).

So that left convincing her the old fashioned way. She cared for her people. Maybe if he framed the looming elections as a threat to their independence, she would get involved if only to keep her people separate. As a Republic-recognized democracy, off-world judicial forces could be called in to enforce law and order regardless of what her people thought of the matter. If her people voted for a candidate that favored their independence, her people would be safe from Republic interference.

Of course, that would imply _she_ was with the hill people instead of guiding a planet towards prosperity, so maybe that wasn't the best choice.

He could try to convince her that every candidate except her was a problem. Deca and Wila were career politicians - or trying to be - which automatically made them suspect, and Queen Veda was right when she said Beju was ill-prepared to take the throne. There had to be _something_ in their policies, platform, or history that made them inferior to a natural leader like Elan.

(He ignored the small voice screaming that Elan was too inexperienced, too new to leadership on a planetary scale to be a good leader. She was clever. She would learn. The Force was with her, even if she couldn't feel it, and there were successful planetary leaders much younger than her on the galactic stage.)

Yes, there had to be problems with the other three candidates. He just had to find it and drag it into the light.

He nodded to himself, self-determination and _rightness_ settling in his soul. He would borrow one of the hill peoples' swoop bikes to return to Galu, and, through his work, give the people of Gala the information and choices they deserved.

-0-

Jango tried not to feel smug as he watched his vod'ika groan in frustration, but he was far from a paragon of virtue. There was something satisfying about watching himself be proven right, even if it also felt a little like stealing sweets from a youngling.

"How is it?" he asked, burying his vindication beneath curiosity and concern and hoping his beskar muffled the rest.

Obi-Wan turned a tired glare in his direction. "Great. Everything's great. Offworld has _so much_ interest in Gala, it's so easy to find!" he replied sarcastically before his tone twisted into something accusatory, "Are you _sure_ Xanatos is on this planet?"

Jango tilted his head to the side as he studied his HUD, skimming through the various articles Obi-Wan was researching. "Do you want a hint?" he offered instead of answering, because yes, he was very certain Xanatos du Crion was somewhere on Gala. Or would be.

Obi-Wan scowled. "No," he answered sullenly.

"Do you want to take a break?"

"No, I can do this," Obi-Wan argued, pointedly opening a new holonet page and entering a slight variation on the same search phrase he had been digging through for the past three hours.

The kid was stubborn, Jango had to give him that, but he was going about it all wrong. Still, this was Obi-Wan's verd'goten. If Obi-Wan didn't want his help, he wouldn't force the kid to take it.

They sat there for another hour, Jango meticulously cleaning the disruptor rifle Hondo had purchased for him and Obi-Wan alternating between all but bashing his head into the terminal and fidgeting. Jango held his silence, wanting to point out that Obi-Wan was long past the point of productivity, but knowing the kid was liable to snap at him and dig his heels in even further if he said anything.

He was growing a new respect for Jaster. It was hard to watch Obi-Wan struggle and give him room to learn from his own, mostly harmless, mistakes.

"Come on, Ob'ika," Jango interrupted. "It's time for midmeal."

Obi-Wan flopped back with a groan. Jango nodded to himself at the reaction; it was a little early to break for food, but the kid clearly needed it.

"Do you want to eat in or go out?" he asked.

The kid thought for a moment before asking, "We've only got preserved stuff, right?" Jango nodded, though he personally believed he could make a mean ori'skraan with nothing but shelf-stable staples. Obi-Wan's face scrunched in disgust, "Let's eat out. I want something different."

Jango shrugged and went with it, understanding the sentiment. The kid was still young, and there was something undeniably exciting about trying new food on a new planet, even if it all started to blend together after a while.

The Galacians wandering the streets gave the Mandalorians a wide berth, no doubt spooked by the distinct armor and veritable armory Jango insisted they wear any time they stepped outside the _Legacy._ Jango made a point to stare down anyone who spared them more than a glance, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs from Obi-Wan.

"Stop that," he muttered.

"I'm not doing anything," Jango protested firmly, turning his helmet to glare at a Galacian decked head to toe in blinking string lights passing out pamphlets. The Galacian hastily averted his gaze and shoved a flimsi at another Galacian.

Jango didn't have to look to know Obi-Wan was rolling his eyes, and he grinned to himself as he led his vod'ika into a pub. He gently steered the verd'ika to a booth in the back, strategically located to provide optimal sightlines, though Jango doubted that had been the original intent.

Disappointingly few restaurants and bars cared about being defensible these days.

"Hi!" Obi-Wan chirped at their server, a Galacian boy barely older than Obi-Wan himself. The boy eyed the two Mandalorians seated side by side - it was easier to demonstrate optimal sightlines than try to explain them, and Jango was _not_ putting his back to the door - suspiciously before shaking his head and taking their order.

The fried nerf skewers would have made more sense at a street food stall, but they were far from the worst food Jango had ever sampled. Obi-Wan tore into his with great enthusiasm, though not without asking their server if there were any hot sauces. That was apparently the wrong thing to ask, since the boy grew even more frosty afterward.

But the kid either had a way with people or his teenage appetite was all the apology their server needed since the boy lingered to chat with Obi-Wan while Jango settled the bill.

"Have fun?" Jango asked wryly once Obi-Wan caught up, still waving his goodbyes.

"I was information gathering," Obi-Wan defended petulantly. "It worked really well on Galidraan."

Jango tipped his head in agreement. "So what did you learn?"

"Not a whole lot," he admitted. "Only thing on Garl's mind was the upcoming election, and once he realized we couldn't vote he insisted he had to get back to work. Couldn't even recommend other places to eat because his family owns that place."

"It sounded friendly as you were leaving," Jango commented lightly. With a farewell like that, Jango had assumed Obi-Wan had learned where their target was staying.

Obi-Wan gave him a sharp look. "Just because he didn't help me doesn't mean I can't be nice, Jango."

Jango rolled his eyes but couldn't bring himself to argue against it. The kid wasn't exactly wrong, he just had a very different way of treating his informants.

The kid was growing up. This was his verd'goten. He was absolutely allowed to conduct this hunt however he wanted. They would find a rhythm and balance between their styles on some other hunt.

"Back to the ship, or do you want to take a look around first?" Jango asked.

Obi-Wan thought for a moment, head tilting in a gesture Jango recognized from the mirror even as the kid fidgeted with his tunic sleeves. "The fresh air is nice," he answered vaguely, and Jango nodded, gesturing for Obi-Wan to take the lead.

They turned towards the largest hill, twisting up the slope towards the glittering palace overlooking the city. The city grew nicer the higher they climbed. The cracked pavement was replaced with pristine cobblestone lined with freshly washed sidewalks, the buildings looked slightly less haggard, and the city information booths positively gleamed next to the Galacians begging for scraps.

"Did you know some Jedi Masters can sense how an entire mission will go just by walking on a planet and feeling the Force there?" Obi-Wan chattered with a small frown, head swiveling back and forth as he stared at the crumbling buildings surrounding them.

Jango felt his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He knew Jedi could do all kinds of telekinetic sorcery, but sensing the future? He'd never heard of such a thing.

It sounded like a damn useful skill. How many lives, how many jobs, could have been salvaged if Jango had gotten a _glimpse_ of the ways a mission could go tits up?

"Of course, I'll never be strong enough to do anything like that. You need to be crazy good and strong with the Force for it," Obi-Wan continued as they turned onto a side street plastered with colorful flimsi ads. "I think out of all the masters in the Temple, only Masters Sifo-Dyas and Tyvokka can really do it well."

"Why do you think that?" Jango asked.

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise - like he had forgotten Jango was listening, which was dangerous and something they would have to work on - before offering a wry grin. "What? About Masters Sifo-Dyas and Tyvokka?" Jango shook his head and Obi-Wan shrugged dismissively. "I'm not that strong with the Force. I'm strong enough for the Jedi to take me, sure, but it was real close. If I hadn't been abandoned on the Temple steps, I probably would not have been taken in at all."

A low sound rumbled out of his chest, and Jango distantly realized he was growling. He forced his fists to unclench and took a deep breath.

"Um, if it means anything, the masters always said midichlorians don't determine strength. Which is kind of true, I think, but I kinda assumed that level of precognition was pretty rare to begin with," Obi-Wan offered with a shrug.

Jango blew out a heavy sigh. One day this kid would learn. "I'm more upset that your parents abandoned you in the middle of Coruscant."

"Oh. Right," Obi-Wan trailed off. "It's actually not that uncommon. A lot of places don't, um, tend to like it when babies start levitating their nurseries."

Jango scoffed, still finding the idea repugnant. If a Mando parent ever did such a thing… well, being dar'manda would be the least of their worries.

So what did happen to Force sensitive ik'aade? As far as he knew, there had been no Haat'ade who could lift things with their minds, and there were certainly no Mando'ade who claimed to be able to sense the kriffing future. And certainly no one ever admitted to abandoning or killing babies for being Force sensitive.

Was it a matter of training and practice, like using a blaster or conducting a hunt? Were there Mando'ade who might be able to sense the future who didn't know because they never practiced that talent?

…Was Obi-Wan practicing that talent? If Obi-Wan practiced hard enough, would he be able to sense the future like that, regardless of what he said about "strength" and "midichlorians?"

"How do you practice using the Force?" Jango asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them.

Obi-Wan shrugged again. "We had a lot of games we would play in the creche. Push-pull and hide-and-seek and stuff like that. And then we were taught how to meditate and commune with the Force. And beyond that, I don't really know. You're supposed to get a Jedi Master to help teach you and refine your control, but…" he trailed off with a helpless gesture.

Jango nodded, thoughts already whirling. Clearly, he had been an absolute _idiot_ for ignoring that part of Obi-Wan's education, no matter how much he disliked Jedi sorcery. Some tools were simply too valuable to ignore.

He would have to contact the Clans and try to find someone who could teach Obi-Wan, but it was entirely possible Obi-Wan's Jedi education meant he was more trained than any of the Mando'ade. When was the last time there had been a Mandalorian Jedi? Before the Dral'han?

He shook off that thought. That was a problem to solve later, while Obi-Wan hunted for their prey.

"So meditation is part of practicing your Force," Jango reiterated, and Obi-Wan nodded confirmation. "Do you meditate?"

Obi-Wan squirmed and scuffed his boot against the pavement. "Sometimes," he admitted, frowning and squirming when Jango fixed a disapproving look on him. "I've found it really hard to sit still recently. I try to get a few minutes in here and there."

Jango sighed and made a note to add meditation techniques to his research. There had to be something that could help. "I'm adding meditation time to your lesson modules," he stated firmly, completely ignoring Obi-Wan's betrayed look.

"What?! But you didn't care about me meditating or not ten minutes ago!" Obi-Wan protested. "You're only doing this because you think it's useful."

Jango shrugged, not caring that Obi-Wan saw right through him. "Isn't it?"

The kid rolled his eyes, huffed, and stomped just out of Jango's reach, pouting the whole way. Jango watched him go before turning his head to glare at a concerned passerby. The Galacian flinched and hastily turned away.

Their wandering started arcing towards the _Legacy,_ and Jango did his best to hide his smugness as Obi-Wan's bad mood faded with every twisting street. He knew the kid wasn't actually that mad with him, and would probably actually like the excuse to sit and meditate uninterrupted once they worked through his restlessness.

Obi-Wan let out a little sound of surprise, and Jango had his blaster up and pointed at a hastily retreating Galacian before his brain fully caught up. "Sorry, man! She's about to speak!" the Galacian shouted with a little wave.

"You okay?" Jango asked tersely as he grumpily stuffed the blaster back in its holster.

Obi-Wan gave himself a quick pat down and nodded. "Yeah, I must have been lost in thought or something," he trailed off with a thoughtful frown. "I have a feeling…" he started before offering a smile at Jango. "Want to go find out what's got him so excited?"

What he really wanted to do was punch the man for bumping into his vod'ika, but Obi-Wan would never let him get away with it.

"Sure," he replied unenthusiastically.

Obi-Wan flashed a brilliant smile and started following the excited Galacian to a large crowd gathered at the base of a temporary stage. Holoposters of a middle aged woman with the words "Experience and Dignity" in bold Basic flickered and shone along the edges of the plaza. And there, standing at the stage and just starting what looked to be an impassioned speech, was the woman herself.

The crowd cheered and clapped as she spoke, promising guidance and new prosperity for the masses after her election. Jango listened for half a second before deciding he didn't care about her campaign promises and instead focusing on the crowd.

They were a restrained group for a bunch of people at a political rally, clearly embracing the "and Dignity" part of their chosen candidate's slogan. They were an older crowd, not yet geriatric but definitely not youthful, and seemed perfectly content to clap and cheer whenever Wila Prammi paused for breath.

It was almost fascinating to watch, but the whole show seemed exhausting compared to the Mandalorian method.

"Hey Jango?" Obi-Wan asked suddenly. At Jango's affirmative noise, he continued, "You're _sure_ Xanatos is connected to Gala, right? And he's all about strip mining?"

Jango cocked his head as he turned to look at his vod'ika, feeling a grin tug at the edges of his lips. "What are you thinking, Ob'ika?"

Obi-Wan hummed for a second before thoughtfully asking, "How do you get mining rights on a planet?"

Jango smiled, a vicious thing that split his face wide. Finally, the kid was on the right track. "For a large scale mining operation, you would need permits and mineral rights from the local government," he answered.

"How do you get those?"

"Officially or unofficially?"

Obi-Wan scowled but nodded like he had expected that, gaze sliding back towards the candidate on stage. "So if you gave enough credits to the right people…" he trailed off.

Jango nodded, though he wasn't sure Obi-Wan saw the motion. "Buir taught me one of the best ways to track sentients was through their credits. In the last three months, millions of credits have been transferred from Offworld to--"

"No! Stop it!" Obi-Wan interrupted sharply, whirling to face him. "Don't tell me the answer. I want to figure it out for myself."

Jango gave him an exasperated look, but obliged the kid's demand and stopped talking.

"Come on, we need to get back to the _Legacy._ I've got some research to do."

-0-

Obi-Wan sat back with a sigh, and startled at the neat collection of empty mugs that had materialized by his elbow some time in the last… twenty hours. He knew some part of him had been surprised that his caf had never seemed to run out, but he had been too focused on his slicing to question the ever-present beverage.

Jango was propped up across the crash bench, eyes closed and head drooping at what had to be an uncomfortable angle. Obi-Wan felt a wave of fondness at the sight and carefully extracted himself from the holonet terminal to dig around one of the storage bins. He scowled at the lack of soft blankets - there were a few tarps, but he was hardly going to offer Jango a _tarp_ if he wasn't bleeding to death - and glanced back at his brother, gently prodding him with the Force.

A wave of sleepiness nearly dragged Obi-Wan under despite the caffeine still rushing through his veins. He hastily retreated from the Force. There was definitely time to run up a deck and find a real blanket.

He was making his way past the galley and into what the ship's designers had probably intended to be the captain's cabin when a sudden bang nearly made Obi-Wan jump out of his skin. "Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, where are you?" Jango shouted frantically.

"I'm upstairs!" Obi-Wan shouted back, fist closing around the first (thin) blanket he could find from their usual sleeping pile. "One second!"

But Jango was impatient, and Obi-Wan could hear him climbing the ladder to the upper deck. He hastily tucked the blanket around his shoulders and slipped back into the main room as a familiar dark head popped up, twisting to frantically search for something.

"Hey Jango," Obi-Wan greeted with a smile and gestured with the fabric he was wearing. "I was finding a blanket for you."

Jango sighed, relief making his shoulders sag and coloring the Force around him. "There you are," he commented as he finished climbing to the living deck. "Did you finish your search? Are you hungry for breakfast?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Did you sleep at all?"

Obi-Wan shrugged before collapsing on one of the galley benches. "Not really, but I think I--" he yawned, "--I think I'm close."

Jango nodded absently as he moved towards the galley. Obi-Wan snuggled under the blanket, relishing in the warmth and the lumpy couch, absently watching as Jango prepared a quick breakfast for them both.

"Eat," Jango ordered as he set a plate of eggs covered in bright red sauce in front of his face. Obi-Wan obediently lifted his fork to shovel some into his mouth. "What did you find?"

Obi-Wan blinked awake, surprised to find that his eyes had slid closed as he savored the lip-tingling burn. "Hm? It's all on the terminal, but it's a lot and I haven't really organized it," he hedged before a thought sparked him back to alertness. "Am I supposed to be dead?"

_"What?"_ Jango demanded, shock and horror and some other emotions Obi-Wan was too tired to parse flooding the Force.

"Well, Home Planet Mine had a gas explosion, and, according to reports, the chain reactions blew up almost half the planet, including AgriCorps. _I_ was at AgriCorps until…" until Xanatos had kidnapped him and ironically saved his life.

He frowned at the thought. Did that mean he owed his life to Xanatos? Or did that whole _thing_ with _that place_ mean the life debt was void?

"We face death and danger every day, vod'ika," Jango stated, though Obi-Wan could tell he was unhappy with the conversation. "All we can do is keep marching on and protecting our aliit, until it's our turn to march farther ahead."

"Right," Obi-Wan said, more to continue the conversation than to actually agree. Though, what Jango said did actually make a certain amount of sense.

"What else have you found?" Jango asked.

"Well, Offworld has profited greatly since the Home Planet Mine explosion blasted ionite to the surface. Bandomeer has rapidly become their most profitable mine, and they've been using that money to 'invest' in other planets," Obi-Wan reported, eyes flashing as he thought of his (probably dead) friends, their lost dream, and how somewhere, somehow, Offworld was going to ruin other peoples' dreams.

Jango smiled proudly. "You've done very well so far, vod'ika. What did the investments tell you?"

"I don't know!" he wailed, beyond frustrated. "Why would Offworld - a _mining company_ \- be interested in farming here? Or droid chips on Phindar? Or holodramas on Telos? Or-- or--" he cut off with an angry huff. He breathed deep, part of him knowing he should calm down, but a much larger part of him just not caring.

"Shh, Ob'ika," Jango soothed. "Finish your breakfast and then I think you need a nap."

Obi-Wan glared. "I do not! I need to know what's going on. I _know_ I saw Offworld's logo before I was kidnapped and, and," and he was _not_ going there, "and I know Offworld's going to do something bad here and on all those other planets too. Why else would they be pouring money in? I know they've got to be buying politicians and stuff, but which _ones?_ And how do I prove it and get people to believe it?"

Jango frowned, a hard expression crossing his normally warm face. "Obi-Wan, calm down."

"And how do I even find Xanatos? I've found money trails, but I haven't found _him!"_ Obi-Wan shouted, and startled when Jango's hands gripped his shoulders tightly. A cup rattled as it fell back onto the table.

Oh.

"Obi-Wan, go to sleep, or I'm finding a sedative," Jango stated firmly. Obi-Wan blinked twice and ducked his head in shame. He hadn't lost control like that since he was in the creche.

"Ok," he mumbled. "Sorry, Jango."

"It's okay, Ob'ika. Just go to sleep, and I'll take care of all this," Jango soothed, gently squeezing his shoulder and adjusting the blanket.

Obi-Wan gave him a sharp look. "Not 'take care' take care, right? You're not going to kill anyone?"

Jango snorted. "No," unfortunately, Obi-Wan heard in the ensuing pause, "but I can take a look at your research and offer some tips if you want."

"Yes please," Obi-Wan replied with a tired smile, relieved.

"Good night, Ob'ika."

"'Night, vod," Obi-Wan mumbled as he dragged himself from the bench and towards their cabin, tired mind barely registering the spike of surprise and delight behind him.

_Jaster's Legacy_ was still and quiet when he woke what felt like minutes but had probably been hours later. Obi-Wan yawned and stretched, warm and comfortable under a mountain of blankets, and almost settled back in for another nap before the nose-burning scent of tiingilar registered.

Obi-Wan sniffed the air appreciatively, suddenly feeling absolutely famished. He dragged himself out of the sleeping mat and stumbled to the door while rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning, vod'ika," Jango greeted from where he was lounging across the galley bench, setting aside the datapad he had been studying. "Are you feeling better?"

"Mmhmm," Obi-Wan mumbled peeking in the pot merrily bubbling away on the heating coil. His eyes burned and watered from the steam and he hastily ducked back. It smelled _delicious_. "Is food ready?"

The stew was ready, and Obi-Wan enthusiastically polished off two bowls before he felt satisfied and awake enough to regard his brother. He had been watching Obi-Wan slurp away with a mix of amusement and concern that made Obi-Wan feel vaguely embarrassed, and he belatedly slowed down to finish his third bowl at a (slightly) more civilized pace.

"So did you…" Obi-Wan trailed off, not sure how he wanted to finish his question. He wanted to know if Jango had found anything about his search, but he didn't want to seem ungrateful or like he was just using Jango and he didn't want to _cheat_ but it sure would be nice if he didn't necessarily _pass_ but at the same time…

Maybe he should just keep silent. Jango would bring it up eventually (maybe).

"Ob'ika?" Jango prompted, head tilting slightly in question.

Obi-Wan flushed and fidgeted slightly. Jango had that look that meant he was going to try and out-patience him, and now that he was awake and fed, logic and duty said he should resume his hunt sooner rather than later. "Did you have a chance to look at my research?" he let out in a rush.

"Yeah," Jango replied as he pushed aside his bowl in favor of a datapad, which he quickly navigated through and set in front of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan snatched the pad up and began scrolling, feeling a rush of gratefulness as he realized Jango had meticulously gone through and organized his notes by planet with potential links or questions highlighted.

He frowned as he scanned through Gala. He had known there were a lot of seemingly random 'investments' being made, but he hadn't realized just how many there were. A water treatment plant for outlying communities, a growing farming co-op, a toy manufacturer, and a mining equipment company had each received almost half a million credits, though there were only vague announcements on just what that money would be used for.

He frowned deeper as he studied the list again. Food, water, entertainment, and tools. All they needed was shelter and transport, and they would have everything a community needed to be wholly self-sufficient.

He glanced at the list of investments on Phindar.

They were a closed society, distrustful of outsiders and forbidding all external traffic, which made any foreign investments immediately suspicious. Of course, droid parts could be explained away easily enough - mining was dangerous and dirty work, perfect for droids if the company could afford them - but why _Phindar?_ And why droids? He knew Offworld preferred sentient miners, since they were cheaper.

(Well, they were cheaper, as long as there were enough of them to replace the ones lost to death and miner's lung.)

He frowned as he studied the droid investment. It wasn't actually for droids, droid parts, or even droid-based cybernetics. The money was flagged for a droid research lab specializing in memory banks, reprogramming, and data sectoring, which was just weird.

He pulled up a search, and nearly dropped his datapad at the results.

Dr. Dol Vikar was the leading xenoneurologist at Vikar Memory Labs, the very same droid research lab receiving Offworld funding, and lead author on a paper titled "Targeted Episodic Memory Control Therapy in Sentients." The paper was meticulously detailed and Obi-Wan had to find another datapad to translate the incredibly technical Basic into something he could understand, but the results were horrifying.

Somehow, this _demagolka_ had found a way to erase Phindians' memories. And with Offworld's support, they were working on expanding that research for use on Telos-native humans, to mixed success. Vikar seemed optimistic at the end of the paper, implying that they needed more subjects to really dial in the process and offering a few uses for this technology.

He checked the date on the paper and blanched. The paper was over a year old, and Offworld's money had changed from a bare trickle to a geyser shortly after publication. Who knew how far Vikar had gotten on his sick experiments?

He opened his notes on Telos, privately cursing himself for his laziness. Political activists had already dug up most of the dirt on UniFy, a subsidiary of Offworld, so Obi-Wan had made a quick note and left it at that. Now that he was looking, it was apparent that none of these activists had posted anything in… just over a year.

Well. He could guess what happened to any Telosians who tried to oppose UniFy.

He frowned grimly. Xanatos was investing in infrastructure for a new mine on Gala, a way to kriffing brainwash people, and in a whole planet's worth of people to use as mining slaves. If Jango hadn't already convinced him Xanatos needed to be stopped, this research would have cemented it. And if he could get this information in the hands of the press, it should cement that knowledge for the whole galaxy.

Now he just had to find where and when Xanatos would appear.

Or… he could lure him in. Xanatos was spending millions of credits on this venture. A little meet and greet with the favorite political candidate - a chance to talk shop and investments - would be too tempting to resist.

He opened a new message on the datapad and began to write. _Gala Governor Candidate seeks meeting with Offworld CEO…_

-0-

Qui-Gon gave his most polite smile as a Galacian shuffled towards the voting booths. With just under a week remaining until Election Day, he was running out of time to find information on the candidates. Still, he was a Jedi Master, and that meant being a servant of the Republic and dancing on the strings of the Senate. He had to put up at least an attempt at overseeing the elections, regardless of his personal opinions or the Will of the Force.

He had to give it to Queen Veda and her people; the election thus far was shockingly well organized and peaceful. He had seen enough planets experience elections for the first time to expect all manner of craziness - that time a fictional holopicture star had almost been elected prime minister came to mind - but Gala was quite civil and almost, dare he say, _boring_.

He watched critically as the Galacian's ballot was scanned, sealed, and stored. Whoever had helped Queen Veda organize these elections had clearly taken notes from the Core.

His presence wasn't needed here. The poll workers had the miniscule trickle of early voters well in hand.

He slipped out the front door, subtly shifting his robes so his lightsaber caught the light. Tensions on the streets were high, yes, but the mere sight of a lightsaber would put peoples' minds at ease. The Jedi were here. The election _would_ be conducted fairly, no matter what madness erupted around them.

The streets immediately surrounding the polling place was plastered with political ads and volunteers shouting support for their particular candidate. Qui-Gon brushed past them, ignoring the stacks of flimsi supporters tried to hand him, before freezing.

"May I?" he asked, already grabbing a flyer from each volunteer. He flashed a polite smile and strode away, scanning the colorful ads for mailing addresses. The Force gently prodded him, and his gaze snapped to the dynamic picture of Deca Brun, the current favorite. He mentally shrugged and made a beeline for an information booth to map out his destination.

Deca's campaign headquarters were as loud and boisterous as an excited campaign office could be. Lights and laser signs covered every public-facing surface with slogans and pictures of Deca's face. When he pushed past the full-sized poster masquerading as a door, a conventionally attractive Galacian woman approached with a sunny smile.

"Hi! Are you here to volunteer?" she asked, eyes trailing over him head to toe.

"I'm afraid not," Qui-Gon replied, smiling gently at the disappointed look on her face. He shifted slightly so her gaze fell on his lightsaber and watched as her expression shifted to surprise and awe, her eyes lingering on the weapon. "I would like to speak with Deca Brun."

"I'm so sorry, but he's speaking on Fifty-Fourth and Palace right now," the woman said sorrowfully before a coy smirk crossed her face. "You're welcome to wait, if you want. Almost everyone is with Deca right now, leaving just the two of us here. Alone."

Qui-Gon could feel his eyebrow want to creep up before schooling his features into something regretful. He let his eyes wander over her close-fitting summer dress appreciatively before dragging them back to her face to tell her, "Maybe later. You understand, a Jedi's duty must come before pleasure."

"That's a pity," the woman said with a slight shrug. "Well, if you'll follow me, I'll bring you to a spot you can sit and wait. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Whatever you have available would be nice," Qui-Gon agreed, following the woman into a room in the back. Judging by the heaps of datapads and clusters of desks, this room was the bullpen where all the actual work for the campaign happened.

"Be right back with you in a moment," the woman promised, slipping back into the lobby as Qui-Gon nodded absently.

He paused for a half second, feeling the woman disappear down a nearby hallway, before wandering the room. The Force guided his footsteps, prompting him to put a hand out and trail it across the stacks of flimsi. What exactly he was searching for, he wasn't sure, but he was confident he would know it when he found it.

A datapad lit up on a nearby desk. Qui-Gon glanced at the abbreviated text and felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Offworld CEO seeks meeting with…"

Offworld. _Xanatos'_ mining company.

Bitter regret and desperate yearning rose in his chest, even as his hand twitched towards his lightsaber. His ~~son responsibility~~ (former) Padawan was here, on Gala, and there, on that datapad, was another step towards saving him.

And he could save him, he knew he could, if he had a real, honest-to-Force chance. Xanatos had been a good boy, a brilliant student, eager and dutiful and perfect, before that disastrous meeting on Telos. If he could break the tie between Xanatos and Crion and bring Xanatos back to the Jedi Order, his soul, his future, his life could be saved.

He slipped the datapad into his robes, shifting the layers until the duraplast casing was hidden. The Force pinged in warning and he hastily made his way back towards the edge of the room right as the door slid open.

"Here you are, Master Jedi," the woman said with a flirty smile, pressing a tray with a glass of juice and some crackers into his hands. A scrap of flimsi with some digits scrawled across it was barely peeking out past the snacks. "Call if you need _anything_."

"My thanks," Qui-Gon answered distractedly, though long years of practice and training masked that fact.

He _would_ save Xanatos, and redeem himself.

He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galacian woman sees a very tall, attractive man with big feet and wants to tap that. Don't @ her.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Verd'goten = Mandalorian rite of adulthood  
> Vod'ika = little sibling  
> Oya = always positive exclamation, means good luck/hunt in this context  
> Ori'skraan = a feast or delicacy, really good food  
> Dar'manda = one who is no-longer-Mandalorian  
> Ik'aad(e) = bab(y/ies), infant(s) up to 3  
> Dral'han = Mandalorian Excision, when Republic forces bombarded Mandalore in a pre-emptive strike that decimated much of the planet  
> Tiingilar = blisteringly spicy Mandalorian stew? Casserole? Canon and Legends disagree, but I know the Disney recipe is not spicy  
> Demagolka = monster, named after someone who experimented on children


	9. The Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weather is starting to turn pleasant and encroach on my writing time, so I expect updates to slow down again.
> 
> CW (and spoilers): suicide. If you stop reading at "Xanatos glared, gaze flicking from" you can probably piece together what happens from context in the next chapter.

Obi-Wan breathed deep, feeling the Force flow through him and energize him. It still felt restless, anxious, stretched taut enough Obi-Wan halfway expected to be able to pluck it like a bowstring, but for the first time in days, it felt like he could embrace that need to move and _do something._

"Targets incoming," Jango's faintly staticky voice murmured through the commlink on his head. "Two transports, ten signatures. Galacian." 

"Copy," Obi-Wan replied, turning his scope towards the main road. Two armored aircars zipped up the pavement to pause next to an armored guard. Words had to have been exchanged, as the guard stepped away from the vehicle and waved the convoy through. "I see them. They've reached the building," Obi-Wan narrated as the aircars came to a stop under the crumbling porte cochère. 

Nine armed Galacians poured out of the vehicles to scan the area for potential threats. These were supposedly professional guards, but not a single one caught the glint of Obi-Wan's scope or the flash of light reflecting off Jango's armor. A signal was passed between the guards and their protectee - Deca Brun, or so Obi-Wan assumed by the fancy robes and self-important posture - emerged from the vehicle to be ushered inside. 

Obi-Wan reached for the Force and tried to release his impatience as the guards meandered into position around the hotel courtyard. He knew they couldn't act yet, knew they had to wait until Xanatos arrived and sprang their trap, but he wanted to act _now._ How long was Xanatos going to make them wait? 

He eyed the guards again, envisioning how he and Jango would take them out. They had blasters - decently powerful EV-140 rifles favored by bodyguards for their intimidating bulk and low cost - but not much in the way of body armor. His beskad should be able to slice through what few flimsy durasteel plates they wore cleanly enough. 

If the Force was with him, he probably wouldn't even need Jango's supporting fire. 

(Force, he hoped he wouldn't need Jango's supporting fire. The guards could survive losing a limb or two, but they wouldn't survive a sniper rifle bolt. And as far as Obi-Wan knew, these hapless guards hadn't done anything to deserve death in the course of doing their jobs.) 

"Two more transports incoming. Fifteen signatures," Jango warned. 

Obi-Wan nodded to himself, watching as two more aircars entered the area. Security cleared them, though that didn't stop Deca's guards from eyeing the transports suspiciously. They glided to a gentle halt next to the hotel entrance, and Obi-Wan shifted in anticipation as the first guards emerged. 

They were dressed in black uniforms with a red Offworld patch on one sleeve. Obi-Wan grit his teeth at the sight. He had seen those uniforms before on Bandomeer, behind that secret wall-- 

Xanatos emerged from the vehicle. He stood tall, proud, arrogant as he fixed his heavy dark cloak, head turning this way and that as he surveyed the courtyard. A wave of cold regard crawled over his skin, and Obi-Wan realized his mistake a second too late. 

The former Jedi locked eyes with him. 

" _Shit!_ " Obi-Wan hissed, feeling Jango's alarm and concern spike. He fumbled for his datapad, stabbing at the screen impatiently. "He sensed me," he explained moments before hitting the last button. "Data is released. Media alerted." 

Jango, Force bless him, immediately shifted into the coolly professional feel he always had on a job. "Eyes," he warned, a half second before the entire courtyard erupted with brilliant, blinding flashes of light. 

Obi-Wan darted out of his hiding spot, beskad at the ready. The nearest guard - Galacian - was still moaning in pain as his sword neatly sliced through the rifle followed by a chop through their calves. The next guard collapsed to the ground, a smoking hole in the back of their head. He didn't stop to mourn, too busy racing to catch Xanatos before he could get into one of the aircars and flee. 

He wasn't going to make it in time. He had been hoping to avoid deadly explosives, but if he didn't act now Xanatos would simply fly away to safety and the whole hunt would have to restart. He reached for the remote detonator on his belt and braced himself. 

Twin thermal detonators planted under the porte cochère exploded, rocking the courtyard. The aircars hovering just above were blasted to pieces, massive chunks of shrapnel launching through the air. Someone screamed in terror before getting cut off with a wet gurgle. 

Xanatos stumbled back, hastily discarding his now-smoldering cloak. He snarled, blood running down his face, and reached for his belt. 

The Force urged him to duck, and Obi-Wan immediately dropped, beskad swinging around to disarm an Offworld guard who had thought to beat him with an electroprod. He spun around to catch Xanatos' eye again. 

The older man smirked, deliberately moved his hand away from the lightsaber hanging there, and very pointedly turned his head towards the road. 

Obi-Wan followed his gaze and felt his breath catch in his throat. There, at the other end of the courtyard, deflecting Jango's sniper bolts with all the thoughtless ease of a Jedi Master, was Qui-Gon Jinn. 

"Well, this is quite the situation you've found yourself in, isn't it, _little brother?"_ Xanatos taunted. 

Obi-Wan scowled to hide his panic. "It's over, Xanatos. Surrender!" 

"No, I don't think I will," Xanatos drawled. "This isn't a good look for you, brother; an _assassin_ attacking an innocent businessman like myself in broad daylight? Why, it seems almost criminal." 

"That's rich coming from _you_ ," Obi-Wan spat. 

Xanatos grinned, more an aggressive showing of teeth than anything pleasant, and nodded at someone behind Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan whirled around, beskad rising to catch an Offworld guard's electroprod before it could connect. He snarled, shoved the prod down and to the side, darted in close, and slammed the hilt into the guard's stomach. When the guard doubled over, he followed up with a heavy blow to the head. 

He whirled on the spot, but Xanatos was gone. The door to the hotel just sliding shut behind him. 

"You there! I order you to freeze in the name of the Galactic Republic!" a horrifyingly familiar voice shouted. 

Obi-Wan stiffened, but turned to face this new threat. 

The tall human stumbled, a hundred emotions flashing across his face before Jedi serenity took hold. "Obi-Wan Kenobi," he breathed. 

"Master Jinn." 

-0- 

Qui-Gon Jinn was nervous. The datapad he had stolen had not offered much information; just a time, date, and location for a meeting between Deca Brun and Xanatos duCrion. He could only speculate why those two wanted to meet, but a small part of him he didn't like to acknowledge knew it was not going to be good. 

He shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like to dwell on it, but his last meeting with Xanatos had not gone well. Bandomeer had been an unmitigated disaster, and he had been lucky to escape with his life. Hopefully, if the Force was with them both, this second meeting would go better. 

(But of course the Force would be with Xanatos. He was _Xanatos._ The Force loved that child.) 

He drew on the Force, reaching for the brilliant, beautiful life that surrounded him to calm his fears and ease his anxiety. Deca Brun had already arrived and entered the hotel, which meant he was only waiting for ~~his son~~ Xanatos to arrive. He breathed deep, letting the Force guide his focus as two more armored aircars entered the courtyard. 

The Force pinged in warning as guards began spilling out of the vehicles. Qui-Gon reached for his lightsaber, not sure what the threat was, but trusting the Force was not misleading him. 

A second later, it all made sense. Brilliant light erupted around the courtyard, and Qui-Gon cursed as his eyes burned. He slammed them shut and reached out with the Force, splitting his focus between healing the damage and assessing the situation. 

The high pitched whine of a blaster rifle going off to one side caught Qui-Gon's attention. A guard died, their life there and gone in a second. Another shot, another guard died. He couldn't find the sniper in the Force, the assassin so Force-null they blended in with the non-sentient weeds. 

Another assassin raced across the courtyard towards-- 

Xanatos. 

Qui-Gon felt his breath catch and launched himself off the roof he had been hiding on. His lightsaber sprang to life in his hand, and he easily batted away the barrage of blaster fire headed his way. His boots barely touched the ground before an explosion rocked the courtyard. 

He spun, eyes recovered enough to make out the smoking remains of the Offworld aircars. He grimaced, and then he had to twist away as a blaster bolt singed the pavement where his head had been a half second earlier. 

Xanatos was speaking with the short assassin, and Qui-Gon felt a brief flare of panic. What was he doing? The assassin was going to kill him! 

Another blaster bolt screamed down at him. He raised his lightsaber and deflected it into a guard armed with an electroprod. The guard fell to their knees with a strangled scream, clutching their blasted hand in agony. He didn't have time to linger as another bolt raced towards him. 

He drew the Force around him and raced towards the hotel, lightsaber weaving around him as the sniper continued firing at him. A guard was creeping up the small assassin's rear, and Qui-Gon sent a brief prayer to the Force that the electroprod connected. 

The assassin spun, curved sword catching the weapon and deflecting it aside. Qui-Gon cursed under his breath and deflected another bolt off to the side. He could just make out Xanatos racing inside the hotel, and something in Qui-Gon's chest eased at the sight. 

"You there!" he shouted, finally within hearing range. The assassin, just finishing slamming their sword into the guard's skull, stiffened, and Qui-Gon raced under the cover the hotel's landing provided. "I order you to freeze in the name of the Galactic Republic!" 

The boy - and this close, it was obviously a boy despite the anonymous spacer's flightsuit-and-vest combination the assassin sported - slowly turned to face him, a look of grim determination on his face. 

Qui-Gon nearly tripped, his breath freezing in his chest. He knew that face. He had seen that face look at him with desperate hope, bitter disappointment, and utter heartbreak. He had watched that face turn to him after putting thousands of lives at risk seeking his approval, and he had watched that face crack as he deposited the boy with the AgriCorps. 

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," he breathed. He had thought he had watched that boy die. 

"Master Jinn," the boy greeted levelly. 

Qui-Gon frowned. What was this boy, this former initiate, doing here? Why was he attacking Xanatos? Why was he helping whatever assassin was trying to kill him? 

Had this boy really strayed so far in only a month and a half? 

He felt his expression harden. He had known this boy was too dangerous to train. Less than two months, and the boy was committing terrorist acts in broad daylight. He did not want to kill, but a budding Dark Side user and an active terrorist? That was a different question. 

But Kenobi was still a child, and that meant Qui-Gon had to give him a second chance. A series of explosions behind him almost made him second guess that decision. "Kenobi, plotting to kill a Galacian politician and a businessman is wrong. Stop this foolishness and help me take out the other assassins," he ordered. 

Kenobi's expressionless mask remained firmly in place. "What about slavers?" 

Qui-Gon gave Kenobi a sharp look. The boy was not wearing a slave collar, but the high neck of his flightsuit could be obscuring an incredibly, unimaginably, improbably thin model. The boy didn't have any manacles or other signs of slavery or coercion on him, and the boy was armed… 

"Are you a slave?" he asked doubtfully. 

The boy's mask faltered for a second, an angry scowl pinching his lips and brow before it smoothed back out. "Would you know?" he bit back rudely. 

Qui-Gon frowned, not appreciating the boy's tone. He wasn't born yesterday. Of course he would recognize a slave when he saw one. 

A flare of warning in the Force preceded the roar of a rocket. Qui-Gon leapt to one side, lightsaber springing into a guard position as a barrage of blaster bolts flew past his head. 

"Ob'ika! K'oya'kari Xanatos. Ven'akaani kaysh," a kriffing Mandalorian stated, vocoder clearly audible over their whining blasters. 

"Ne'kyr'amu kaysh!" Kenobi shouted, worry and fear seeping from the boy and into the Force. 

Qui-Gon grit his teeth as he centered himself. The situation was worse than he had thought. The boy was attacking Qui-Gon's senses with his emotions, clearly didn't care that he had fallen in with the wrong crowd, and now that wrong crowd was definitely going to kill him. 

"Ne'dajuna ibac. Jii slana, Ob'ika," the Mandalorian ordered, and Qui-Gon sank into the opening stance for Ataru. 

Kenobi hesitated for another half second before turning and darting into the hotel. Qui-Gon eyed the expressionless helmet, so much worse and yet so similar to the blank expression on Kenobi's face, and drew the Force around him. 

Xanatos could handle himself against a half-trained and mostly-Fallen Jedi Initiate. He would need all his focus against this ancient enemy. 

-0- 

Jango lined up his next shot and squeezed the trigger, barely noticing the rifle kicking into his shoulder. Crimson plasma rocketed out of the barrel and slammed into a Galacian guard's back. 

He ejected the power pack and slammed in a new one, glancing at the vitals display in the corner of his HUD while his hands went through the familiar motion. Obi-Wan's heartrate was elevated, likely because he was running around with a kriffing beskad instead of a blaster like a reasonable person, but not alarmingly so. He lined up his next shot and fired, killing another Galacian. 

An Offworld guard was racing towards Obi-Wan's position. Jango sighted them in and fired. Then fired on the guards attempting to form a pincer around Obi-Wan. 

Movement out of the corner of his eye attracted Jango's attention, and he quickly adjusted his rifle to get a better view. A Jetii leapt from the roof of the hotel, green laser sword blazing in one hand. Jango growled, tracking the motion in his scope, and aimed a split second ahead of where the Jetii would land. 

He fired, and frowned when his blaster bolt and the volley sent by the confused guards were easily batted away. 

That was to be expected, of course. In his experience the best way to kill a Jetii was up close and personal. 

No. He wasn't here to kill Jedi. He had promised Obi-Wan he wouldn't kill his little brother's former people, and he intended to keep that promise. That conviction didn't stop him from aiming and firing at the Jetii's center of mass, knowing the shots would not connect. 

Knowing the Jetiise, this was probably an act first, ask questions never kind of scenario. The least Jango could do was buy Obi-Wan time to capture \- or kill, preferably kill - his quarry. 

He lined up another shot, and watched as the Jedi deflected the bolt into a guard. The guard collapsed with a scream. Jango didn't bat an eye, merely re-aimed and fired again. 

The Jedi moved so fast he briefly vanished from Jango's scope. Jango growled and tracked the Jedi, firing as rapidly as his rifle could, though not a single shot slowed the Jedi down. He growled again when the Jedi darted under the cover of the porte cochère. 

He slung his rifle across his chest, leapt off the roof, and activated his jetpack, launching himself over a cluster of guards. He fired a wrist rocket, watched as guards were tossed around like matchsticks, and took a brief moment to hover midair and rain explosives on any survivors. Obi-Wan would be disappointed so many of these guards were dead, but Jango couldn't bring himself to care. This ambush had gone to shit anyways. 

He swooped lower, drawing his Westars. The Jedi was talking with Obi-Wan, and Jango could just make out the carefully controlled look on the kid's face. He recognized that look. It was the same one he wore when he was pretending to be brave after another screaming nightmare. 

Anger sparked in his chest. Whoever this Jetii was, they had upset Obi-Wan. 

He raised his blasters and opened fire, swinging around to follow the Jetii as they rolled out of the line of fire. 

"Ob'ika! Go hunt Xanatos. I'll fight him," Jango promised darkly. 

"Don't kill him!" Obi-Wan shouted, a faint thread of panic in his tone. 

Jango snorted. "Wasn't planning on it. Now go, Ob'ika," he ordered sternly. The kid stared at him for a long moment before nodding and running inside. 

The Jetii settled into some sort of opening stance, and Jango took the opportunity to study it. He had trained with a beskad - and had recently revisited that training with Obi-Wan - but this stance was very different from anything he was accustomed to. The Jetii had a slight crouch to them, prepared to spring in any direction at a second's notice. 

"You're lucky he wants you alive," Jango commented darkly, forcing himself to speak Basic for the aruetii's benefit. 

The Jetii looked infuriatingly calm, merely adjusting his grip on his jetii'kad. 

"What did you say to him?" he growled as he fired a few easy volleys, testing the Jetii's defenses. The Jetii's serene expression didn't so much as twitch, even as Jango adjusted his aim towards the human's face. "I know you said something that upset him, so what was it _Jetii?"_

"I need not answer to you, _assassin_ ," the Jetii spat. 

Jango snorted. As if Obi-Wan, as if Jaster's memory, would just let him become an assassin. 

He flew off to the side, aimed, and fired his whipcord. The Jetii leapt to one side and raised a hand. Something slammed into his chest, and Jango had to hastily adjust his position to keep from plummeting out of the sky. A flash of green light had him twisting in midair, barely dodging the laser sword that had been tossed in his direction. 

He stowed his pistols, corrected his position, and rocketed towards the Jetii, catching the man in his midriff and ramming the man into the pavement. Jango sat on the man's chest, knees tucked in to the Jetii's armpits so he couldn't be dislodged, and slammed a fist into the man's face. Something cracked, and blood gushed over his glove. The Jetii groaned but weakly raised a hand. A proximity sensor pinged, and Jango threw himself to the side. 

Too late. The Jetii's laser sword scored a hit through his jetpack, and a helpful status alert on his HUD reported the device was inoperable. 

Guess he was doing this the old fashioned way. 

"He knew you," Jango stated as he scrambled to his feet. The Jetii followed suit, laser sword held at the ready. Jango reached into a boot and withdrew one of his many vibroknives. "Who are you?" 

The Jetii opened his mouth to reply, and Jango took the opportunity to close the gap, pressing his way into the Jetii's circle. The Jetii reared back, but Jango didn't give them a chance to do more than that, slamming his elbow into the Jetii's gut followed by a swift headbutt when the Jetii doubled over. He raised the knife, ready to plunge it into the Jetii's chest. 

A proximity sensor pinged, and Jango had to dodge away as a chunk of still-flaming aircar debris went flying towards him. He fired his second wrist rocket in retaliation-- 

\--And realized that was a mistake a second later as the Jetii dodged away. The rocket continued sailing through the air and into one of the cracked pillars holding the porte cochère up. The pillar exploded, and the cover groaned ominously. 

He caught the Jetii's eye and read surprise and horror on his bloody face. And then they were both buried under rubble. 

-0- 

Obi-Wan raced through the gilded stone halls of the Royal Scepter Hotel, following the faint feel of _Dark_ that was Xanatos. He raced past the conference room Deca Brun was locked in and continued around the corner, opening his senses wide open to the Force in an effort to locate exactly where Xanatos was. 

He was close. Somewhere above, probably trying to escape from the roof. 

Obi-Wan sprinted on, throwing one hand out to catch the edge of a stairwell and practically throwing himself up the multiple flights of stairs. He crashed into the door at the top of the landing and raced onto the rooftop before the door finished hissing open. 

"Stop!" Obi-Wan shouted at the retreating figure, throwing one hand and the Force out. To his amazement, the former Jedi obeyed, slowing his run to a walk and finally coming to a complete halt with a dark scowl on his aristocratic face. Obi-Wan slid to a stop a few meters away and panted heavily. "Give up, Xanatos," he gasped between breaths. 

Xanatos' face twisted into a sneer. "Make me," he snarled, grabbing the lightsaber at his waist. 

Obi-Wan felt his mouth fall open in surprise as a blue blade sprang to life. He knew that saber. 

He had built that saber. 

"Like it?" Xanatos asked lightly, twisting the blade back and forth as if to admire the weapon. "I got it off some scum on an Outer Rim backwater. You'd be amazed at the stuff slave trash carry around." 

Obi-Wan scowled and raised his beskad. His weapon was beskar, the best Jango could find on the Corellian black markets, which meant it should withstand going toe-to-toe with a lightsaber. Or at least, it should withstand the fight as long as he didn't get in a blade lock. 

"That lightsaber is mine. Give it back," Obi-Wan demanded. 

Xanatos burst out laughing, a cruel taunting thing that sent shivers down Obi-Wan's spine. "Make me, little brother _._ " 

Obi-Wan frowned and drew the Force around him, banishing the memories that laugh evoked. 

Despite all his promises, Jango was nowhere to be seen, too busy keeping Master Jinn at bay. 

His lips quirked at the irony. He had been trying so hard to prove he could do it on his own, and now that the end was in sight all he wanted was his real brother by his side. 

It was fine. He had the Force. And Jango would be here as soon as he could. 

He eyed Xanatos, watching as the former Jedi fell into the opening stance for Ataru. He swallowed his nerves and adopted his own ready stance: a modification on the Shii-Cho opening stance that would let him either strike or draw one of the blasters strapped to his thighs. 

Xanatos barked a laugh. "What the hell is that? And here I thought you were trained. Master Drallig would be ashamed to see that sloppy form." 

Obi-Wan felt color rise in his cheeks - it wasn't sloppiness, Jango was too well trained for that - but shifted into a more traditional stance. Xanatos rolled his eyes and Obi-Wan took the chance to strike, whipping his blaster out and opening fire. 

The former Jedi startled, blade whirling to catch the blaster bolts. Obi-Wan dodged to one side, rolled into a crouch and opened fire once more, forcing Xanatos to keep deflecting the bolts. 

Xanatos scoffed. "Is this the best you can do? Shoot blasters? You're pathetic," he spat, darting forward in a Force-enhanced lunge. 

Obi-Wan twisted to the side, moving his beskad to catch and deflect the blade. The condensed plasma beam bit into the beskad, but the weapon held long enough for Obi-Wan to raise his blaster and fire point blank into Xanatos's shoulder. 

The fallen Jedi stumbled back with a scream, and Obi-Wan pressed his advantage. He stowed his blaster, shifted to a two-handed grip on the beskad, and slid into a quick series of slices. Xanatos snarled, blade rising to catch and counter every strike. 

He was being pushed back, and it took all of Obi-Wan's concentration to keep from tripping as he tried to react to the Force's prompting. Xanatos leapt overhead, aiming a chop at his head, and Obi-Wan stumbled to one side, taking one hand off the beskad to fumble at his belt. When Xanatos lunged forward in a stab that would become a leaping slash, Obi-Wan slammed his beskad onto the lightsaber and darted in, pressing a small stun grenade against Xanatos's chest. 

He darted away and hastily blocked his eyes as light erupted from the sticky device. 

Xanatos roared as he was temporarily blinded, clawing at his face. Obi-Wan took the half second breather to inspect his beskad. He winced at the edge, molten and uneven where the lightsaber had burned divots into the weapon. 

Their blacksmith was not going to be happy about that. 

There was no time for further contemplation as Xanatos screamed, "You'll _pay_ for that!" Obi-Wan barely had time to raise his weapon before Xanatos was on him, chopping furiously at him. 

"--in, sir! Sir, do you copy?" an unfamiliar voice broke in. 

"Are you--" Obi-Wan grunted as the lightsaber slammed into his beskad with particular force "--going to--" the lightsaber edge was drawing closer with every heavy chop, the beskad barely holding together "--answer that?" 

"This is an emergency!" the commlink wailed. 

Xanatos snarled, used the Force to send Obi-Wan stumbling back, and leapt away. "What?" he demanded into the device on his wrist. 

"Sir! Someone's posted all our investments and dealings on the holonet. Core News has picked it up!" the voice screeched, all but hysteric. 

_"What?"_ Xanatos hissed in disbelief. Shock and fear rippled in the Force, and shock rippled back as another person burst onto the scene. 

Obi-Wan risked a quick glance and tried not to be disappointed when he realized it was Master Jinn and not Jango. 

"Core News, Coruscant Holopad, Deep Core Journal," the voice rattled off. "All the major publications. Sir, this isn't good. The Trade Federation is backing out on us. Judicial is calling demanding we contact you. The senator--" 

Obi-Wan felt a vicious smile spread across his face. Icy blue eyes turned to pierce him, the Force erupting in turmoil at the _rage_ the former Jedi focused on him. " _You!_ You ruined me!" 

Obi-Wan stumbled back a half step, drawing the Force around himself like a thin cloak. "You ruined yourself! I only revealed the truth," he shouted back. 

Xanatos glared, gaze flicking from Obi-Wan to Master Jinn, before his face twisted into something approaching serene. "You lied. Your goal was to destroy me, to destroy everything I've spent my life working towards. Guess what? You succeeded, you _monster,_ " he hissed. 

"What? The only monster here is you!" Obi-Wan protested, but didn't get a chance to say anything more as Xanatos charged at him with Force-enhanced speed. He barely had time to move his beskad into the approximation of a guard stance before the former Jedi was in his face. 

He braced himself for impact, for death, and distantly noted that he was glad Jango wouldn't have to see this. Even if he wished Jango were by his side. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

He grunted as Xanatos slammed into him. 

"Fuck you, little brother," Xanatos hissed in his face, flecks of red spattering across their faces with every word. Hands, calloused and worn under slick blood, wrapped around his own, thrusting the jagged beskad deeper into Xanatos's chest. "May you… spend every… waking hour… knowing my blood… is on your hands," he gasped out. 

Obi-Wan stumbled away, pulse roaring in his ears. He thought he could hear someone screaming, but he wasn't entirely sure. All he knew was Xanatos staggering away, bloody hands feebly clutching the beskad hilt as he collapsed on the rooftop. 

Something shoved him aside. A blur of beige and brown descended on Xanatos like a Denjuean swooping hen, wrapping themselves around the dying human and shielding him from view. 

A light, cold and dark but brilliant in the way all Force sensitives were, guttered out. 

The Jedi Master wrapped around the corpse screamed, and a wave of raw _grief_ sent Obi-Wan staggering back. He blinked, startled. Was he supposed to mourn the loss of life like this? He wasn't sure. Did he even feel bad about what happened? Maybe he felt a little disappointed that Xanatos had died, but he mostly felt _relief._

Did that make him a bad person? This Jedi Master was reacting a lot more to this than he was, and Jedi Masters were supposed to have mastered their emotions. Was something wrong with him that he ~~watched caused~~ watched Xanatos die on his blade and didn't feel bad about it at all? 

His blade. He should get his beskad. The blacksmith would need it if she was going to repair it, and Master Jinn had just removed the jagged, mostly broken weapon from the body. 

He slowly approached the pair. The Jedi Master was carefully arranging Xanatos's hands, laying the bloody palms against the gaping chest wound as if Xanatos were simply resting after a long spar. Obi-Wan paused on the peripheral as he realized just how intensely personal this scene was. 

He politely averted his gaze, crouched to collect the beskad, and froze as he noticed the lightsaber half-hidden under the corpse. That had once been his. Should he take it? He had made it, and Xanatos had stolen it, but it didn't feel right. So much had changed since that pilgrimage to Ilum… 

He felt the weight of someone's gaze on him. 

"You," the person croaked. Obi-Wan looked up, and found himself frozen by Master Jinn's devastated look. "You did this." Hurt and the early stirrings of anger clouded the Jedi's eyes. "You _traitor._ " 

"I--" Obi-Wan tried to protest. 

"You Fell, just like I knew you would," he accused, ignoring how Obi-Wan stiffened. He caressed Xanatos's face. "He was better than you could ever be, and you _killed_ him." 

Jinn gave him a hard, accusing look as Obi-Wan stumbled to his feet clutching the beskad. "Tell me, Kenobi: was it jealousy? Did my refusal to train you make you angry? Did you seek out my former apprentice in revenge?" 

No! Never. _Never_ something like that, he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. A hot wash of emotion flooded through him and prickled at his eyes. He gasped a short breath and fumbled for his serenity. 

He would _not_ cry. Not in front of-- 

The Jedi's expression hardened. "You've betrayed _everything_ you were taught. You're disgusting. A shame and blight on the Temple's teachings." Jinn's face twisted into a look of absolute loathing. Obi-Wan forced a breath and felt it stutter. "I'm glad I never took you as an apprentice. You're a disgrace." 

Obi-Wan forced another breath and ducked into a low bow, glad the motion hid his flushed cheeks and the liquid he could feel leaking out his eyes. He roughly swiped at his face. "Yes, master," he said, because what else could he say? When he rose from the bow, the Jedi Master was wholly occupied with the body. 

He tried not to feel the guilty rush of relief at the Master's distraction. He dipped into another shallow bow, turned on his heel, and fled as fast as he could, hardly paying attention to where he went as long as it was _away._

"Whoa! Careful, vod'ika," Jango chided as Obi-Wan collided with him in the stairwell. 

"Jango," Obi-Wan gasped out, clutching Jango's arms like a lifeline. The Mandalorian was coated head to toe in dust, and it almost looked like his armor was dented in places. What had Master Jinn done to him? 

Something must have set alarm bells ringing in Jango's helmet as he all but shoved Obi-Wan behind him in his sudden need to storm onto the roof. Obi-Wan nearly groaned in frustration. He didn't need this, didn't need protection or vengeance or Force-forbid revenge, he needed to go. _Now._ Before he did something embarrassing like burst into tears. 

"No, come on, vod," Obi-Wan ~~whined~~ urged, tugging at Jango's arm. 

Jango turned to face him, and Obi-Wan could feel his assessing gaze running up and down. His brother sighed and almost seemed to melt before he grumbled, "Okay, vod'ika. Okay. We'll go." 

Obi-Wan smiled weakly and collapsed against his brother's side. He finally let the tears fall as he felt Jango wrap an arm around his shoulders. 

-0- 

Qui-Gon watched dispassionately as the former Jedi fled from the rooftop. He didn't care about Kenobi's trembling lip or pathetic attempts at keeping calm. He didn't care how the former initiate's expression crumpled right before he ducked into a low bow. He didn't care how the fallen initiate ran away from him. 

He didn't care because everything he cared about was dead. Run through by Mandalorian steel. 

He gently stroked Xanatos's cooling, blood flecked face. The boy's eyes were closed, but his face was caught in a rictus of pain that tore at Qui-Gon's heart. His passing had not been easy. 

It was cruel that a boy with such brilliance, such potential had to die so young. Xanatos had been dealt a rough hand, and had died before either of them had a chance to fix… anything. 

Would Xanatos find peace in the Force? Or was his soul torn to shreds by the Dark Side? 

Qui-Gon prayed it was the former. His boy didn't need to continue suffering after death. 

His commlink trilled, and a sense of duty tore at him. He should answer. The boy didn't need him grieving, wouldn't have wanted him to grieve so terribly. 

(That was a lie. If he didn't want him to grieve, he wouldn't have killed himself in front of him. And oh, how that knowledge hurt.) 

The commlink fell silent for a few moments. Qui-Gon carefully arranged Xanatos's hair. That boy had always been so fastidious. Having his hair bloody, matted, and out of place would infuriate him. 

The commlink trilled again, and Qui-Gon growled, reaching for the device. A Galacian he should recognize sprang into view and sketched a quick bow. "Master Jedi, I apologize for interrupting your investigation." 

Qui-Gon simply shook his head, dismissing the apology. He didn't trust his voice not to betray his grief. 

"I regret to inform you that Queen Veda has passed away from her illness. Long live King Beju." 

For one beautiful, blissful second, the galaxy stood still. His eyes flicked across the rooftop and onto the city. What about the elections? News of Queen Veda's death had not yet spread - it was far too peaceful for that - which meant Galacians were still going about their lives oblivious to the change in regime. Would King Beju honor the elections? Probably not; the prince had gotten the throne he always wanted. Would the city, the planet, accept that or would it devolve into a civil war? 

It would probably go to civil war. A civil war he had done nothing to prevent. 

Numb shock spread through Qui-Gon's limbs and turned his normally silver tongue to lead. His shoulders slumped as his gaze fell back towards the body before it caught on an innocuous bloody lightsaber peeking just past Xanatos's hip. 

He thought he recognized that lightsaber, clutched in the hands of a too-angry boy desperate to prove his worth as their transport was attacked by pirates. 

The lightsaber of a boy he had done nothing to protect. 

The lightsaber of a boy he, in his grief, had chased away. 

His breath stuttered in his chest. 

Dear _Force_ , what had he done? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon's in for a rude realization. He's also very lucky Jango wasn't there. I'm not sure Obi-Wan could have kept Jango from shooting him point blank.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> K'oya'kari = go hunt  
> Ven'akaani kaysh = (I) will fight him  
> Ne'kyr'amu kaysh = Do not kill him  
> Ne'dajuna ibac = (I was) not planning (on) that.  
> Jii slana = now go  
> Aruetii = outsider  
> Jetii'kad = lightsaber  
> Vod('ika) = (little) brother  
> Jetii = Jedi. I've been using Jetii as a more aggressive term than Jedi


	10. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May this new year be better than the last!
> 
> I knew last chapter was dramatic, but I did not expect the responses I got from all of you lovely people. Naturally, the only appropriate response is to rewrite a bunch of scenes to twist the knife and make sure we can all start the year with a case of the feelings. :')

Jango had to focus on his breathing to keep his emotions in check. Obi-Wan was tucked against his side and kept rubbing at his face, trying to stymie the flow of tears. Part of Jango ached to drag his little brother into a defensible corner and let him cry until he couldn't cry any more, but the responsible supercommando in him knew that was a poor tactical decision.

This hunt had gone to hell in a handbasket, and every bone in his body screamed with the desperate need to _retreat._

Brun and Xanatos's guards were dead or incapacitated, but the firefight had been far from quiet. It was only a matter of time before local law enforcement arrived to really kriff over Jango's day.

He growled to himself as they burst out a side entrance to the hotel. A few (foolish) Galacians had started to gather in the courtyard, summoned by their curiosity and the lack of blasterfire, which meant the law would not be far behind. And if not the law, some other emergency personnel would arrive to assess the damaged building and aid survivors.

He pulled Obi-Wan away from the main entrance and towards a side street, hand hovering near his blaster while his armor constantly scanned for threats. He scowled. If his jetpack had not been damaged, getting back to the _Legacy_ would be trivial.

They cautiously emerged out of the alley and onto a road. Galacians were everywhere, but none seemed to care about them. Yet. Obi-Wan shuddered, ducking his head and turning further into Jango's side.

"Come on, Ob'ika," Jango murmured, squeezing his little brother's shoulder. "Chin up. We're not safe yet."

Obi-Wan sniffled and nodded, reluctantly pulling out of Jango's hold enough that they could both easily draw their weapons again. Jango couldn't help the swell of pride as the kid mastered his tears enough to scan the area.

"Incoming," Obi-Wan whispered, voice cracking in the middle, seconds before Jango's HUD alerted him to the same.

"Hey! You there! Outsider! You with kriffing _Brun?"_ a male voice demanded. Jango picked up the pace, eyeing the burly Galacian in his helmet's rear vis display. "You here to kriff over our democracy? Hey, I'm talking to you!"

One meaty hand reached out, and Jango whirled, blaster cocked and ready. "Don't," he warned as he pushed Obi-Wan behind him.

The Galacian looked stunned, hands rising in surrender. "Whoa, mister. I didn't mean anything by it."

Then why the hell did you bother us? Jango wanted to demand. He settled for sneering behind his helmet and slowly, pointedly, holstering his weapon. He glared around the street, and was satisfied to see the onlookers turning away.

He turned, tucked Obi-Wan back against his side, and continued towards the _Legacy_. It became more crowded the closer they got to the spaceport as people spilled onto the streets shouting about Brun and Offworld. Jango was forced to let Obi-Wan go so he could glare at any Galacian foolish enough to glance their way, both hands hovering near his blasters and body screaming _threat!_

He relaxed the second the _Legacy's_ hatch finished sealing behind them. His helmet couldn't come off fast enough, and he barely had time to set it down and open his arms before Obi-Wan slammed into him. He fell backwards from the force of it, pulling the kid into his lap and wincing as the boy pressed against all the bruises he didn't know he had.

He wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan, guiding the kid into a slightly more comfortable position before moving his hand to the back of the kid's head. He gently carded through the kid's hair, humming low in his chest as he felt his shoulder grow warm and damp.

What had happened up on that roof while he was digging his way out of the rubble? Was this Xanatos's doing?

If it was, the bastard had better _hope_ he was dead. Death would be a mercy compared to the hell he would unleash. He was a warrior, a supercommando, a Mandalorian. He knew a thousand ways to kill someone and he knew a thousand more ways to make it _hurt_.

Obi-Wan shifted, burying his face deeper into Jango's neck, probably sensing the turn of his thoughts. Jango resumed humming what he hoped was a soothing tune as he continued stroking the boy's hair, fingers catching at spots of dried blood.

He wondered if the hotel kept HoloNet enabled security cameras on the roof. It would be difficult, but not impossible, to slice into the footage and find out what had happened up there. Find out if he would have to finish the shabuir off or if Obi-Wan had finished the hunt with a kill. Judging by the blood coating the front of Obi-Wan's clothes and face, it was likely the latter.

A kill. Obi-Wan had been so reluctant to kill, and even more reluctant to even take on this hunt.

Kriff, he had messed up.

"I'm sorry, Ob'ika," Jango murmured, clinging tighter to his little brother. "I'm so sorry. I really fucked up."

Obi-Wan made a curious sound between his hiccupping breaths.

"You didn't want to do this, and I…" I forced you into it.

Maybe not in so many words, but he really had left Obi-Wan between a rock and a hard place. Of course his morally upright, life-loving little brother wouldn't want to kill, even if the target deserved it. Of course his Obi-Wan would follow along while Jango hunted, going out of his way to keep as many people alive as he could.

Of course he should have listened when Obi-Wan said no.

Jango could have found another way to ensure Xanatos duCrion got his due. But he had been impatient and angry, eager to make the galaxy bleed for making Obi-Wan bleed. And all he had done was drag Obi-Wan right back to the root of his trauma.

"I'm sorry," he repeated helplessly. "I'm here. I'll help. I'll do whatever you need, I promise." Just forgive me, please.

Obi-Wan sniffled, a stuttering snotty inhalation that made Jango wince for the poor kid's throat, and clung tighter. "You promise?" he asked shakily.

"I promise. Whatever you need, little brother," Jango said.

"You won't leave me?" Obi-Wan asked, arms tightening around Jango until it almost felt like he would be squeezed to death.

"No, never," Jango answered, hugging Obi-Wan tight enough the beskar digging into Obi-Wan's kute had to be uncomfortable. Stars, he hoped Obi-Wan wouldn't ask him to leave. Not after everything.

"Even if I'm--I'm--"

"You're what, Ob'ika?"

"An adult?"

Jango felt something crack in his chest at the kid's heartbroken whisper, involuntary tears springing to his own eyes in response. "Oh, Ob'ika. I'm sorry," he apologized again, because this was _another_ way he had kriffed up. "I thought you knew. Becoming an adult doesn't mean you lose your family. It means you can help defend your clan, instead of being defended by it. It means you _can_ hunt on your own, but not that you have to." He tried shifting Obi-Wan to look him in the eye, but the kid was clinging like a starved mynock and Jango settled back into the hug. "We're aliit, Ob'ika. You're stuck with me."

Unless you choose to leave me, Jango adamantly refused to say. He wouldn't - couldn't - give voice to such a thought. That would send him back to the spice freighter, back to the knife's edge, teetering right at the brink of something Jaster would be ashamed to see.

Obi-Wan barked out a wet laugh. "More like the other way around."

There was something Obi-Wan wasn't saying, some dark fear under the deceptively lighthearted words. Jango closed his eyes and held on. "Then I'm the luckiest man in the galaxy."

They could have sat there for hours - would have sat there for hours - if one of the _Legacy's_ proximity alarms hadn't started wailing. They both jumped, and Jango scrambled to jam his helmet over his face. He toggled the HUD and watched as an external cam showed four law enforcers armed with blasters and batons fanning out to surround _Jaster's Legacy_.

"Time to go, vod'ika," Jango stated, earning a determined, if tear-streaked, nod in return. Jango couldn't help the little smile that played at his lips as they blasted out of the spaceport and leapt into hyperspace.

-0-

His hands itched.

His hands itched, his back ached, and his legs were going numb.

He knew he should move, should call local law enforcement, should start cleaning up the mess he made, but it was hard to muster the energy. This was a disaster, the latest in what he was barely starting to acknowledge was a long downwards spiral, and a not insignificant part of him suspected his efforts would only make things worse.

Force. When had he become so blind?

Five years. Five years since that mission to Telos. Had he ever recovered from that disaster?

Judging by the corpse still cradled on his lap, the blood staining his hands, and the lightsaber abandoned on a rooftop in the ass-end of the galaxy, the answer was a resounding _no_.

Qui-Gon winced at that harsh truth. He had thought devoting himself more fully to the Living Force, to existing purely in the moment, would heal the pain of Xanatos leaving. If he never had to think about what Xanatos had done, it would never be a problem.

And that lightsaber said otherwise.

Force, he owed the initiate an apology. Not an apprenticeship, but an apology.

He carefully shifted Xanatos's body onto the roof and reached for his commlink.

"Master Jedi," a palace security officer answered politely, the voice-only link hiding Qui-Gon's wince. Master Jedi. Master Failure would be more accurate. "This is not a good time."

"I understand. There was an attack at the Royal Scepter Hotel, and I need local support on the clean up efforts," he ordered before hesitating. Did he mention the political candidate that had been on the scene? Would this new government care?

The officer made a frustrated sound. "We're a little busy right now. Are you not able to handle it yourself?"

A concerned frown creased Qui-Gon's forehead as he chided, "I understand Queen Veda's passing is chaotic, but bombs and mass casualties were involved. This is too much for a single person, even a Jedi, to handle."

"And we're kinda under siege here," the officer snapped. "Ah, that was… very rude. My apologies, Master Jedi."

"Under siege?" Qui-Gon repeated, baffled. Had word leaked that quickly? Were people already protesting King Beju's rule? It couldn't have been more than a half hour from when _he_ was informed!

"Have you not heard? Deca Brun was caught accepting massive amounts of money from a foreign entity. Check the HoloNet. I don't have time for this," the officer said before abruptly hanging up.

Qui-Gon blinked at the silent commlink, utterly flummoxed. Clearly, the situation on Gala was deteriorating faster than he had anticipated, and the only thing to do was gather more information. Maybe, if the Force was with him, he could salvage something from this mess.

He clipped Kenobi's lightsaber to his belt, hoisted Xanatos's body across his shoulders, and made his way off the roof. The hotel was empty, all the guests and staff having evacuated some time during the fight. Judging by the smoking remains of a portable barrier next to what looked like a conference room, it had not been a peaceful or easy evacuation.

He scowled at the sight. Those sorts of barriers were favored by bounty hunters and had to have been the work of either Kenobi or the Mandalorian assassin. If he had to guess based on the evidence, they had planned to capture - and most likely kill - both Deca Brun and Xanatos duCrion.

The sympathy and goodwill he had been building towards Kenobi vanished. He may have treated the initiate harshly, but being rejected did not excuse _murder_.

His scowl only grew as he used the Force to clear the main entryway out to the main courtyard. Those few Galacians in the area were surprised to see him, but they quickly returned to their attempts at aiding the injured security guards littered around the area. None of the Galacians appeared to be real emergency personnel.

The pourcrete drive was pockmarked with carbon scoring and ash, corpses and practically-corpses were strewn about the area, and the palace was _too busy_ to help? What kind of destruction did the palace need before they would help the citizenry?

~~Elan and the hill people would respond better. Faster. With more compassion.~~

No. He couldn't think about that right now. He had no idea whether the election would still happen, and he had other pressing questions to answer.

The nearest HoloNet terminal was, ironically, inside the hotel, so back inside the hotel Qui-Gon went after depositing Xanatos's body next to the line of deceased guards. It didn't take much searching at all to find what had the Galacians so riled up.

"Rim-Shaking Allegations Lodged Against Outer Rim Mining Company Offworld," one headline screamed. "Eight Key Takeaways from the Allegations Against Offworld Mining," screamed another.

He sniffed disdainfully as he selected one of the summary articles. A wise Jedi would never act on information filtered through the lens of another, but it was the most expedient way to track down the actual raw files.

He knew his face went stony as he read about Offworld's activities on Gala. Investments of that magnitude in an infant democracy were suspicious, yes, but hardly worth rioting in the streets over. If anything, the investments were a good thing - water and food were two critical resources that would serve Gala well.

But the rest of the files… those painted a much harsher picture. Inducing targeted amnesia in sentients? Wiping whole identities and erasing the sentient's life? That was barely a step above killing the poor person. Was possibly even more cruel, in some ways.

How could his Xanatos have gotten involved in that?

And then there was all the information on Telos itself.

He had known, deep down, all those years ago, that bringing Xanatos to Telos to face his father was a poor decision. But the boy had been so promising, and it had been the final test between Xanatos and one of the youngest Knighthoods in the Order. If he had known fighting Crion would lead to such anguish…

The information on Xanatos's actions on Telos was incomplete, but Qui-Gon was no idiot even if his heart wished it could turn off his brain. The First Citizen of Telos had taken protestors and activists for mind wipe experiments. Xanatos duCrion was actively exploiting and killing his countrymen for profit.

His dear son was a monster.

Force.

He had raised Xanatos, from the tender age of eleven until that fateful day on Telos seven years later. Was he responsible for the boy's actions? Were Xanatos's horrible decisions because of his poor teaching? Was he - indirectly - the cause of these horrible acts?

~~Was he a monster as well? No. He couldn't be. That was impossible.~~

Force. Stars. Kriffing… _life._

He had thought he was blind on that rooftop. Blind to the danger a single initiate could pose, blind to the pettiness in Xanatos's heart, blind to the chaos a single monarch's death could unleash. Now…

Now he was becoming painfully aware just how blind he was about himself.

He had known he was not the greatest Jedi in the Order, and was comfortable in that knowledge. He had not known how horribly he had failed the galaxy.

How horribly he had failed… Kenobi.

He had to chuckle bitterly at the thought. Kenobi. The boy - and the galaxy - had truly lucked out by avoiding him as a teacher. The boy was too emotional and too violent. Training him would have exacerbated those flaws, and then they would have a well-trained Dark Sider instead of a child railing against the galaxy.

Of course, in his infinite wisdom, he had chased the boy off the rooftop and away to places unknown. They had to close the spaceports and prevent the boy from making it off Gala, before he could vanish entirely. They had to stop him, before whatever poison Qui-Gon's grief introduced took root.

They had to find and free the boy, before evil tore his soul to shreds.

A fresh wave of grief hit him like a ton of bricks. The galaxy, the Force, truly could be cruel sometimes, but at least this would be a mercy.

-0-

Obi-Wan woke feeling more refreshed and centered than he had in what felt like weeks. He hadn't realized how much the verd'goten and his looming adulthood had terrified him until it came to pass, and he couldn't help the wash of shame he felt for what he knew was an overreaction.

Such fear and, more importantly, allowing himself to be influenced by that fear, would be totally unbecoming of a Jedi Padawan. He still wasn't sure if it was a good thing that bridge was salted and burned and very firmly _behind him_.

He slipped out from under his pile of blankets and glanced at Jango's empty sleep mat. What time was it? He hardly remembered going to bed, and with the _Legacy_ in hyperspace, it was hard to gauge what time it should be.

He _should_ meditate, but he really wanted to know what Jango was doing. And he didn't want to start meditating and get interrupted when they exited hyperspace. That would be a surefire way to have a very unsatisfying meditation session.

Satisfied with that justification, Obi-Wan rose and padded out of their shared cabin. The galley was empty, though someone had moved the jar of pickled veg and container of flatbread from their homes in storage to the galley table. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and fashioned himself a quick snack, mostly so he could honestly tell Jango he had eaten something when questioned.

He reached out with the Force and found that burning mix of determination, concentration, and thread of guilt that was the only other life form on this ship. He frowned at the guilt - Jango had nothing to be guilty about, not when it was Obi-Wan who was the total disgrace - and followed it down the hall.

"Hey, Jango," Obi-Wan said as he poked his head into the cabin they had retrofitted into a workshop.

"Hi, Ob'ika. Sleep well?" Jango asked, setting aside the rag he was using to clean his beskar'gam.

Obi-Wan nodded and padded over to look at his brother's progress. The helmet had been buffed back to its mirror finish and the blue and red paint had been carefully reapplied, but everything else was filthy. He tried not to be too embarrassed by the wrinkled streaks his kute had drawn in the dust.

"Yeah. How much time do we have left in hyperspace?"

"An hour or so. Have you eaten?" Jango asked, and at Obi-Wan's nod, continued, "Good. Want to help?"

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment. "I want to, but I should really meditate," he admitted, eyeing the door back to their sleeping cabin.

Jango gave him an approving look and gestured towards the stool next to him. "You can meditate here if you want. I'll be quiet."

Obi-Wan beamed and flopped onto the seat, some needy part he didn't like acknowledging lighting up happily at the invitation. A tendril of amused warmth floated from Jango to knock gently against his shields, and Obi-Wan focused on that as he let the rest of the galaxy fade away.

Jango was warmth and protection and a frightening amount of fury, but Obi-Wan would be forever grateful that, of all the beings in the galaxy, he had been chained opposite him. Who else would have helped him get off that ship? Who else would have offered him a family after--

Jinn.

It hurt more than Obi-Wan could have ever anticipated to hear _those words_ on that roof. He knew he wasn't good enough to be a Jedi Knight, he had known and on some level accepted that from the moment he set foot on the _Monument_ , but hearing that final accusation had shattered whatever tiny sliver of hope he had kept hidden away.

Why was Xanatos allowed to have everything he wanted? Why did Xanatos get the chance to become a Knight when he didn't? Why did Xanatos get to keep Master Jinn's trust - and yes, love - when all of his best efforts fell damnably short?

Obi-Wan firmly dismissed that train of thought. That way led to resentment and hatred, and was not ~~the Jedi~~ _his_ way.

It wasn't fair, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that the galaxy wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that the Jedi and the Haat'ade had been deceived on Galidraan. It wasn't fair that a single obscenely rich person could so thoroughly enslave and strip mine whole planets across the Outer Rim. It wasn't fair that a boy could be kicked out of the only family he knew because he was "too angry" and no one wanted him. It just wasn't _fair._

He took a deep breath, and dismissed his rising sense of injustice.

All he could do is try to make the galaxy a little better, one scummy person at a time. Though, now that he thought about it, that felt a little close to vigilantism. While Obi-Wan would like to believe his moral code was strong enough to draw a line between good and evil, a much greater part knew that he was on a slippery slope.

If he slipped down that slope, who or what would catch him before he Fell?

He had only been thirteen for a few months, but he already felt old. He missed the easy black and white of the creche. His friends were good. Bruck and his cronies were bad. Helping people and defending Bant was good. Being angry at the crechemasters for punishing him for fighting Bruck was bad.

People who dedicated their lives to helping others, like the Jedi, were good. Slavers, like Xanatos, were bad. But what about Jedi who loved slavers? Were those Jedi good?

Obi-Wan didn't know, and he yearned for an answer.

Once upon a time, he could have gone to any Jedi Master and asked for their wisdom. He could have searched the Archives for treatises or held enthusiastic debates with his peers until he had formed some understanding. Now, he had Jango and whatever cruel lessons the galaxy felt like imparting today.

He missed the Jedi.

…But he had a feeling that they did not miss him.

That knowledge stung like a training saber to the chest, and Obi-Wan struggled to release his grief to the Force. He missed Bant and her fierce protective streak. He missed Quin and Garen and their stupid schemes. He missed the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He even missed Master Yoda and his awful, inedible, smelly stew!

He hadn't known how much he would miss the Jedi until they were out of his reach.

Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, and Obi-Wan pulled away from the Force to blink them away. Jango was carefully reapplying the sharp horns of the mythosaur skull on his spaulder, a look of fierce concentration on his face as he dragged the thin brush across the beskar. Something lurched in Obi-Wan's chest, and he was struck by a desire to have that arm wrapped around his shoulders again.

He moved his stool a little closer, and hovered just shy of Jango's elbow. The man glanced over and hastily set the armor aside before drawing Obi-Wan into a hug.

Obi-Wan all but melted in the embrace, but part of him mourned. He missed that little touch of connection Jedi shared, that mental brush of warmth and peace and you-are-safe-now that constituted a Jedi hug.

Jango hummed, the deep vibrations rumbling against Obi-Wan's cheek. One hand came up to play with his hair, smoothing it down in a calming gesture. "What's wrong, Ob'ika?" he asked, almost to himself.

"I miss home," Obi-Wan mumbled, noting the flare of emotion from Jango. "It's stupid, I know. I can't go back, and I've got you anyways."

Sympathy clawed its way to the forefront of Jango's feelings as he said, "Yeah, you've got me, vod'ika. And I understand missing your old home. Did I ever tell you about Jaster?"

"I… maybe? I think the name's familiar."

"Jaster Mereel adopted me after Kyr'tsad killed my family and torched our home on Concord Dawn. He raised me, taught me how to fight and how to lead. He was a good man and I was lucky to have him as my buir, but even on the best days I missed my old life on Concord Dawn," Jango said, old sorrow bleeding out. Obi-Wan squeezed a little tighter, trying to stem the flow. Jango chuckled, and patted Obi-Wan's back. "Thanks, kid, but that was a long time ago."

"Does it get better?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.

"Not really," Jango admitted, grief all but slamming into Obi-Wan. "But we say our remembrances and keep marching on. We'll catch up to them some day, and until that day comes all we can do is keep living our lives."

Obi-Wan nodded, seeing the wisdom in that. It didn't exactly help him release his own grief, but he couldn't let his emotions paralyze him. He could focus on the good in life, and maybe, one day, he would be able to prove Jango wrong.

It would get better. One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Wookiepedia, Xanatos was only 16 when he had the mission to Telos. There are many reasons I dislike that, so I increased it to 18. ~~Fight me.~~
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be posted before December holidays kicked off, but Qui-Gon decided to be stubborn. Shocking, I know. Hopefully next chapter knocks some sense into him.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Shabuir = motherfucker  
> Aliit = clan/family  
> Buir = father/parent


	11. Life Carries On

Jango tried not to let his white-knuckled grip show as Obi-Wan guided _Jaster's Legacy_ out of hyperspace and into orbit around Concord Dawn. Fortunately for Obi-Wan's self-esteem, the kid was too focused on steering and adjusting to the slightest gust of wind to notice his concern.

It wasn't that Obi-Wan was a _bad_ pilot, it was just that he lacked experience. Unfortunately, the process to get Obi-Wan that experience was fraught with heart-pounding landings and take-offs.

"Whoops," Obi-Wan muttered, a half second before the _Legacy_ came to an abrupt stop. They both slammed into their restraints, and Jango took a moment to be grateful his dug into beskar instead of flesh. Poor Obi-Wan was not so lucky.

"Ground snuck up on you," Jango teased.

"Just a little," Obi-Wan agreed with a self-deprecating smile. "I was a little too focused on the wind. Can we try again?"

Jango hesitated briefly. He wanted to take care of some other stuff, but he also wasn't comfortable letting Obi-Wan pilot a ship solo. The hopeful gleam started to fade from Obi-Wan's eyes, and Jango immediately folded.

"Of course we can, but let's stick to Concord Dawn and its moons. No hyperspace jumps today," he said, feeling his lips twitch upwards at Obi-Wan's brilliant smile.

"Okay, vod!" Obi-Wan chirped as he flipped switches to turn the repulsorlifts back online.

By the time they were on their sixth landing and take-off sequence, Jango could not find a single flaw with Obi-Wan's technique. The kid's technique had been passable to begin with - as Myles used to insist, "Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing." - but the kid seemed determined to be good enough to land with his eyes closed.

Considering the almost meditatively blank look on the kid's face, Jango almost suspected the kid was working his way to that goal.

Stars, he hoped the kid wasn't _actually_ planning on trying to do that.

"Alright, vod'ika, that's enough for today," Jango said after the third perfectly smooth landing in a row. Obi-Wan blinked a few times and looked ready to protest, so Jango quickly cut him off. "It's midmeal time."

"I'm not hungry. And I want to keep practicing," Obi-Wan argued.

"Well _I'm_ hungry, so we're stopping," Jango stated firmly, thinking of how he could eat and hoping whatever Jedi lie detection nonsense Obi-Wan had couldn't tell the difference.

"Fine," Obi-Wan grumped as he began to shut the _Legacy_ off.

Jango waited until the kid was out of the cockpit before following him to the galley, not entirely sure the kid wouldn't continue to pretend to fly if he let him stay behind. He admired the kid's drive, but by the _stars_ did the kid need someone to remind him to take a gods-damned break.

Midmeal was a quick and simple affair, and Jango absently noted that they would need to acquire more flatbread soon. Their protein pastes and spices were starting to run low as well, and their fuel reserves were probably not doing great after Obi-Wan's flight practice…

Between food, fuel, and the half-formed plans he had kicking around his head, they would need to take a job - an actual, well-paying job - soon.

He hummed to himself as he dug out a datapad. An aerial image of the Fett homestead sprang to life over the galley holotable before Jango had a chance to wipe it. He cursed to himself, fumbling for the holotable controls.

"Jango? What's that?" Obi-Wan asked, blue-grey eyes tracing where Jango had started overlaying rooms and security coverage.

"Ah, don't worry about it," Jango said, finally finding the correct button to stop the feed.

"But I want to know!" Obi-Wan whined. "That looked like the farm we always land next to. Was that the farm? Are you planning on bringing it back?" he asked with an odd look on his face.

Jango stared at Obi-Wan, thankful that his darker skin mostly hid his embarrassed flush and that his brother had happened to see that instead of, say, his ongoing attempts to find security footage from Gala. "Yes and no," he hedged. Obi-Wan's face crumpled a little in disappointment, and Jango hastily elaborated, "I thought we could use a base. Somewhere we could set up some long range targets and you could start jetpack training."

"So not a farm?" Obi-Wan asked, an excited gleam starting to show in his eyes.

Jango snorted. "Despite the name, I'm not much of a farmer."

"Neither am I," Obi-Wan agreed with a wry twist of his lips. "Can I see the plans again?"

Jango hesitated. He had been hoping to keep the plan and as much of the renovations a surprise as possible, but perhaps this would be better. Letting Obi-Wan help design his new home would be good for him. He could customize what he liked and really make it _his_ , something Jango knew Jaster had tried to do with limited success back in his own childhood.

A few quick button presses and the former Fett homestead sprang to life once more.

"I'm thinking automated turret defenses here and here," Jango started, pointing out where the building protruded past the main entryway to form the rough approximation of a petir'kar'ta. It wasn't a true petir'kar'ta - that required multiple buildings arranged around a large central courtyard - but every good Mandalorian aliit'yaim was designed around a courtyard and Jango was determined to make sure this was an excellent aliit'yaim. "That should provide safe coverage from enemy fighters and commandos. It would also make people think the best place to attack is here, along the southern exposure," he said, indicating the back wall. "Which is where I want to lay several lines of bio-cocoons," he finished with a vicious grin.

"Bio-cocoons?" Obi-Wan asked curiously.

"It's a trap filled with kivilol spores. When disturbed, they rapidly multiply and consume whatever organic matter comes in contact with them," Jango stated. "They don't have a long shelf life, but they're very effective."

Obi-Wan looked horrified. "But what about the local wildlife?"

"They'll learn not to approach," Jango said with a shrug.

"No. We're not using that," Obi-Wan said firmly. "There's got to be something else we can use. Hidden blasters or a droid defense or something."

Jango frowned, studying the defense plan. "I like your idea of a droid defense, but I don't know that battle or assassin droids are intelligent enough without overwhelming numbers," which they simply couldn't afford. "We might be able to rig an adequate defense net with disruptor rifles, but it'll take a while to get that online." And it wouldn't be half as psychologically damaging to his enemies.

"Jango," Obi-Wan chided, "you want to put _turrets_ on a building that is, last I checked, _completely gutted._ We're not going to be able to move in for a while anyways."

Jango shook his head. "No, if we hire some construction droids, we should be able to get the new escape tunnels dug and the house rebuilt in a week or two. I can rig up some basic security and get the _Legacy_ to cover any gaps until the turrets get installed. It won't be pretty, but it should be habitable."

"That's quicker than I expected," Obi-Wan admitted. "Um… if we're rebuilding everything," he said haltingly, glancing rapidly between Jango and the floorplan, "can I - I mean, can we - have a garden room? Or a room with some plants?"

"Sure, but I'm terrible at gardening," Jango admitted easily. "My buir used to despair at how I'd make a living when I couldn't keep _wheat_ alive. Other buir had to remind her that I could become a journeyman protector like him."

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh. "We'll start with something low maintenance. Since we're not going to spend a lot of time here, are we?"

This felt like a trap. "Do you want to spend a lot of time here?" he asked cautiously.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, gaze skittering off to one side and returning to catch Jango's through the kid's messy fringe. "Um, maybe? I mean, yes, but we also took down some really bad guys and I want to keep doing that too."

Jango nodded. "That's good, because I was planning on turning to bounty hunting and mercenary contracts for work. Our new aliit'yaim is meant to be our home when we're not on the _Legacy_ ," he stated. Should he say it? It was a bit sappy, but Ob'ika really seemed to thrive on that. "You said you missed home, and I thought…"

Obi-Wan beamed at him, and Jango delighted in the warm feeling that bubbled up in his chest at the sight. "It's not the same, but…" Jango trailed off helplessly.

"But it's ours," Obi-Wan finished. "I love it. Thank you, Jan'vod."

"Of course, Ob'ika."

-0-

"Masters," Qui-Gon Jinn, good friend when he wasn't the current bane of Mace's existence, greeted with his customary miniscule bow.

Mace studied the flickering hologram, taking in the slump of the man's shoulders, disheveled hair, slightly crooked nose, and the dark splotches staining the man's rumpled tunics. The general state of disarray was par for the course, but Qui-Gon Jinn was generally more conscientious when it came to common biohazards like blood.

"Something to say, you had, hmm?" Yoda prompted.

The man sighed and visibly steeled himself, almost prompting Mace to raise an eyebrow. Force forbid Qui-Gon Jinn be reluctant when it came to tweaking the Council's nose!

"I'm afraid the situation on Gala has escaped my control," the man admitted, only years of training and self-discipline keeping the wince to a minimum. "Queen Veda has passed away, putting her son, who is not the rightful heir by their own rules of succession, on the throne. The new king, Beju, is expected to cancel the elections at any moment, and the people will not stand for it. There has been rioting and violence throughout the city."

Mace hummed, low and disappointed, as he turned the grim news over in his mind. He mourned the lives that would be lost over this, though assignments gone sour were an unfortunately common thing. Jedi were often dispatched to difficult situations. Not everything could be resolved peacefully. Sith hells, not everything could be _resolved._

Although, it was unusual for what they had all expected to be a tame mission to spiral out of a seasoned Jedi Master's control.

What was Qui-Gon not saying? What had changed that made it so he did not think he could complete the mission?

Qui-Gon hesitated a moment, lips thinning into a line, before he plowed on, "My involvement prior to Queen Veda's passing complicates matters. It will take time to rebuild local trust, especially with King Beju."

"And more lives would be lost in the meantime," Mace concluded. Qui-Gon nodded, and Mace sighed, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. At least it was a regular tension headache and not a looming shatterpoint. "Would a different Jedi team be able to salvage the situation?"

"The people of Gala were receptive to my presence," Qui-Gon answered vaguely. Mace's eyes narrowed at the slight emphasis. 'Were receptive?' As in, would not be receptive any more? At Mace's look, Qui-Gon reluctantly continued, "My former apprentice and a former Jedi Initiate were involved in the escalation."

Force damn it all to the deepest Sith hell.

"Elaborate. Please," Mace demanded, barely holding back a weary groan.

"Xanatos duCrion, through his leadership of Offworld Mining Corporation, made a series of large investments in Deca Brun's, one of the leading political candidates, campaign. I learned of a meeting between Brun and Xanatos, and went to investigate. While there, a Force sensitive boy and a Mandalorian attacked," he said grimly, catching Mace's eye as Mace shifted in interest. "That boy was Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Alive, young Kenobi is?" Yoda interrupted, surprised and delighted. "And with you, he is?"

Qui-Gon grimaced. "He is not."

Yoda's ears drooped as he let out a mournful sound. "Tell us what happened, you will."

The man shifted uncomfortably, but very evenly reported, "Shortly after Xanatos arrived at the meeting point, Kenobi and the Mandalorian attacked. I rushed to aid the security guards' defense, and was isolated by the Mandalorian while Xanatos and Kenobi fled inside the hotel. I caught up to them on the roof, and watched as Xanatos was impaled on Kenobi's sword."

Mace felt a wash of sympathy for his friend; you had to be blind to not know Qui-Gon Jinn had loved his lost apprentice. Seeing him get stabbed through the chest could not have been easy, even for a Jedi who had mastered all his attachments.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and continued, "I went to check on Xanatos, and Kenobi fled. Xanatos died, and I received a call from the palace alerting me to Queen Veda's passing shortly thereafter. I lost track of Kenobi in the aftermath."

Yoda hummed, eyes drifting shut as he let his sorrow float away into the Force. Mace sympathized with that, too. It was well known Master Yoda loved all the initiates and younglings deeply. Losing one on Bandomeer, learning he was alive, and then learning that he was adrift in the galaxy? That must hurt the old master's heart.

Qui-Gon was studying Yoda closely, a frown puckering his brow, before he turned his gaze onto Mace. Whatever he saw there must have given him courage as he said, "It grieves me to say: I believe Kenobi needs to be found and returned to the Force--"

What.

"--before he slips further towards the Dark Side," Qui-Gon finished with a slight glare in his direction. Mace quickly schooled his features. Apparently he had said that out loud.

"So certain are you, that Fallen, young Kenobi has?" Yoda inquired, tone sharp but ears drooping even lower.

"How could he not?" Qui-Gon asked somewhat bitterly. "He is emotional. Arrogant. Predisposed to the Dark. He attacked and killed lawful security forces for a political candidate and a businessman - unprovoked! And he is with a _Mandalorian._ "

Who were a traditionally passionate and violent peoples with a contentious history with the Jedi Order. If Kenobi chose to abandon his training and emulate his new companion, if Kenobi chose to Fall and take his grievances out on the Order, then they would have a dangerous enemy roaming the galaxy.

But that was no reason to kill a _child_. Especially one that was technically still under their care and protection!

Mace had been an "emotional" youngling "predisposed to the Dark" in his day, and now he was one of the Order's youngest High Council members and an accomplished Jedi Master. If the boy held firm to his training, then there was nothing stopping the boy from becoming one of the Order's greatest members.

And maybe the boy had stumbled and Fallen. Every Jedi struggled with the Dark, and not every Jedi emerged unscathed. If Kenobi was as determined to be a Jedi as every initiate Mace knew was, then the boy would simply join the ranks of Jedi who fought and had to overcome the Dark younger than most.

Master Yoda hummed disapprovingly as he studied the hologram. Mace could feel the Force shifting around the old master as he sensed the currents of Mace's own thoughts and probed the Force for guidance. "Find the boy, the Council agrees," he finally stated, tapping his gimer stick against the tile floor. "But leave it to the Force if returning to the Force, the boy is."

Qui-Gon frowned and opened his mouth to protest.

"Send Master Plo Koon to you, we shall. Talented, he is, at finding younglings," Yoda joked. "Together, find our missing initiate, you shall."

Mace barely kept from rolling his eyes. 'Talented' was a bit of an understatement. The kel dor was a kriffing menace.

"Together, Master?" Qui-Gon asked, frown deepening. Yoda gave him a perfectly level look, which made some expression flash across his face. Exactly which emotion, Mace would never know, since the hologram flickered at that exact moment. "I do not believe that is wise."

"Because want an apprentice you do not?" Yoda demanded. "Or because the Force tells you this?"

Qui-Gon's mouth thinned into a line as he stubbornly refused to answer.

"We have had Shadows searching the galaxy for weeks for a Force sensitive boy and a Mandalorian," Mace reminded his friend. "It is not a coincidence that you were the one who found him."

"You believe there is a connection between us," Qui-Gon stated, tone carrying his disappointment and the faintest hint of betrayal.

Mace grimaced. He wished there wasn't, for both his friend and the boy's sake, but Master Yoda was wise and skilled when it came to identifying nascent Force bonds. When the old master said there was the beginnings of a powerful bond between two Jedi, all he could do was trust his judgment.

"Our last meeting did not end well. If," and the tone of voice implied that was a big 'if,' "the boy has not Fallen, my presence may tip him over the edge," he warned.

"Because you represented his last hope of apprenticeship?" Mace asked, not sure he followed.

"Something like that," he confirmed.

Well, kriff. "It is very likely the Force will guide you to Kenobi again," Mace pointed out, his headache growing behind his eyes. He sighed. "Let the Force guide you, and if things go poorly, Master Koon carries the authority of the High Council."

Force, he hoped it didn't come to that. It was always hard to lose a Jedi - to death, to the Dark, or to a different path in life - but sometimes the Jedi Path was not for everyone. He just remembered feeling that the little redhead who had helped Tholme's Padawan plant water balloons around the Council Spire had been born to be a Jedi.

Qui-Gon grimaced, hologram flickering so the expression lingered long after the Jedi Master began to speak, "Very well. May the Force be with you."

"May the Force be with you," Mace parroted, watching as the image winked out.

He leaned back in his seat, and indulged in the urge to massage his temples. Yoda stared thoughtfully at the space Qui-Gon's image had been for a while.

"Return to us, young Kenobi shall. A great Jedi I have seen him become," the old master asserted.

Mace nodded, and sent a silent prayer to the Force that the old master was right. He ignored the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that said otherwise.

-0-

It took a few days to finish drawing up the floorplan and home defenses, but Obi-Wan was rather proud of their final result. Jango seemed equally pleased, even if Obi-Wan had been forced to curb some of Jango's more exotic defenses for the safety of, well, everyone.

Honestly. Obi-Wan had no idea where Jango had even _heard_ of plants carrying venom strong enough to melt limbs on contact, but at this point he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Gathering the gravsleds, droid crew, and raw material took most of the morning and bled into the early afternoon, at which point Jango dragged Obi-Wan to a cantina for a bowl of tiingilar and some ne'tra gal. Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure what he thought of the somewhat spicy somewhat sweet ale, but he was starting to see the appeal.

"Last chore for the day?" Obi-Wan asked as he grabbed the ruined beskad from one of their heavily laden sleds.

"Last chore," Jango agreed before arming the sleds' security features and sending them away.

Obi-Wan flashed a grin and led the way into the blacksmith's shop. He thought it felt cooler than the last time they stepped foot in here, but it was definitely just as empty. "Hello?" he called.

There was a loud clang followed by some truly impressive cursing. Obi-Wan winced slightly as the blacksmith stomped out of the forge with a torch held menacingly in one hand while the other ripped her heavily etched helmet off her face.

"This better be important! I was in the middle of some very important work," she snapped. Her glare melted away into a brilliant smile as she caught sight of them. "Oh. The Mand'alor! And his ad…iik! Hello!"

"Verd, now," Jango corrected tersely, a correction the blacksmith accepted with a quick nod and wry grin.

"We weren't interrupting anything?" Obi-Wan asked delicately, eyeing the still-lit torch warily.

"You were, but I'll forgive you this time. You being here is actually perfect," the blacksmith said with a smirk as she killed the flame. "I need you to test an alloy. See if I successfully canceled the Force dampening properties. Follow me into the back."

Obi-Wan glanced at Jango, but he felt vaguely amused, mostly resigned, and all around unhelpful, so Obi-Wan mentally shrugged and obeyed. The blacksmith absently set her helmet by the unlit forge, snagged a vambrace off a table coated in delicate electronics, and led them to one of the only open areas in the forge.

"Try this," the blacksmith ordered, thrusting the vambrace at Obi-Wan. "And the interface piece as well."

Obi-Wan nodded, set his beskad next to the table, and took the parts with both hands. Jango quickly stepped in to help him get the interface panel situated and attached to his kute sleeve, adjusting the straps and catches so it fit snugly against his forearm. Obi-Wan carefully aligned the tiny electrical traces littering the underside of the vambrace and, under the intense scrutiny of his brother and the blacksmith, slotted his first piece of beskar into place with a satisfying _click._

It was heavy, but not unbearably so. The weight almost felt reassuring, like a solid mass that would remain with him for life.

He reached out with the Force, finding that energy and wrapping it around a half-repaired hoe. He gently nudged it up into the air, focusing on the gentle push and pull of the Force, how it felt flowing into him, through him, and out of him. He let the hoe down and smiled at the blacksmith.

"It works great! No problems at all!"

The blacksmith smiled broadly. "Oh good! I was worried about that," she admitted. "How is the fit? Too snug? Too loose? Shake your arm a bit, does it move?" She watched closely as Obi-Wan followed her direction, and nodded in approval as the vambrace remained in place. "Good. We'll need to keep adjusting things as you grow, but this should do until you start your growth spurt."

She grinned sheepishly and continued, gesturing vaguely towards the workbench, "It's a good thing it worked. I got bored waiting for you two to return and started your helmet. It would have been a real waste to--" she cut off with a strangled sound. "What did you _do_ to that beskad? Who did this?" she demanded, whirling around to glare at the two.

Obi-Wan felt the blood drain from his face. "Ah… I was using it, against a former Jedi," he admitted somewhat timidly. He was proud to say he didn't flinch under the full weight of the blacksmith's glare.

"And _you_ were the one who bought it?" she accused, turning her glare onto Jango.

Annoyance tinged the Force. "I bought the only beskad with beskar on Corellia," Jango defended himself coldly.

"You bought a knockoff piece of shit," she spat. "The poor beskar. Poor dear didn't deserve what happened to it," she crooned at the half-melted sword.

"Can you fix it?" Obi-Wan asked and almost regretted asking as the blacksmith snapped her attention back on him.

"'Can I fix it?' Ha! I would do better to melt it down and rescue what little beskar is in it," she muttered mostly to herself.

"So do that. We gave you more than enough beskar to forge multiple suits of beskar'gam. Take some of that and forge Ob'ika a real beskad," Jango ordered, definitely annoyed.

The way the blacksmith smiled made Obi-Wan suspect she had been trying to get exactly that order from Jango. "With pleasure, 'Alor," she said sweetly. "And Obi-Wan, if any of your beskar ever melts like that again, you stop what you're doing to it and tell me immediately. Understood?"

Obi-Wan nodded quickly, unnerved at how the blacksmith's smile could become threatening without her moving a muscle.

"And you, Mand'alor, are going to teach Ob'ika here how to properly deflect lightsabers, right?" she asked pleasantly.

"Yes, blacksmith," he stated, vocoder mostly masking the hints of a growl.

"Good. Now where was I? Oh! Your helmet," she commented. She snatched the broken beskad and tucked it next to the forge before digging through the wires covering the table. "Right, so this alloy I found is kind of a pain in the ass. It requires precise thermal control to keep from separating and streaking, and has been challenging to shape correctly. Of course, because it's difficult to work with, I haven't been able to test it extensively, but I don't think it holds up as well against blasters as traditional beskar. Word of advice: don't get shot by a high power blaster. It'll _probably_ be fine, or it might melt. It's hard to say," she babbled.

"Oya!" she cheered as she found the helmet, wires still spilling out the ear cups. She shook a few loose wires free and solemnly offered it to Obi-Wan, all her earlier chatter vanishing before this momentous occasion. "Verd."

Obi-Wan carefully grasped the unfinished helmet, awe and honor and amazement all bundled up in his chest. He glanced at the blacksmith for permission and received the smallest nod from her before her gaze directed him towards Jango.

Jango took a half step forward and rested his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Vod," he said simply, voice thick with emotion.

"Vod," Obi-Wan agreed. He smiled tremulously, feeling Jango's pride and regret mingle with his own emotions. He took a deep breath, and slid the helmet over his head.

The dark tinted visor was difficult to see through in the dim light, and Obi-Wan reached out into the Force to compensate. Muffled voices - Jango and the blacksmith - and movement from Jango caught his attention. He could vaguely make out an arm reaching out to press a button on the side of the helmet before his vision flickered and--

\--He was somewhere else. A Mandalorian in full black and blue beskar'gam stood in a dirt clearing surrounded by other similarly colored Mandalorians. The lead Mandalorian surveyed their people and threw back the white and gray patterned cloak to raise a boxy looking… something over their head. Obi-Wan couldn't recognize it, but he knew it was significant to those gathered here.

The Mandalorian said something, and a brilliant black blade, curved and pointed like a beskad but emitting light like a lightsaber, sprang into existence from the rectangular hilt. The other Mandalorians sank to one knee, heads bowed before their Mand'alor.

Obi-Wan stared at the Mand'alor, not recognizing the patterns on their helmet. The brilliant light from the lightsaber they held overhead did not make it easier; the flickering light danced across the paint and made the jagged design look like flame.

But the flames were not just reflected on the helmet. They surrounded the group, consuming the boxy city the Mandalorians occupied and bathing the kneeling warriors in a bloody crimson glow. The Mand'alor dropped the arm holding the lightsaber and made a sweeping gesture with the other. People, Mandalorians of some sort though their armor lacked the tell-tale T-shape of their taung ancestors, emerged from the flames to salute the Mand'alor.

The Mand'alor turned back to the kneeling commandos, all of whom had blood trailing in dark rivulets down their backs and were now wrapped in chains at the throat and wrists and feet, and said--

"Obi-Wan!" Jango shouted, lightly slapping his cheeks.

Obi-Wan blinked, confused at the fear and panic he could feel in the Force. Jango was kneeling over him, hands gripping his shoulders, while the blacksmith hovered just behind clutching his incomplete helmet tightly.

"Oh, thank the stars," Jango breathed, pressing his forehead against Obi-Wan's. Obi-Wan couldn't help but frown as relief poured out of his brother. Jango sighed, leaned back, and helped him shift into a seated position before staring intently at him. "What was that?"

"I don't…" Obi-Wan started to say. He frowned deeper. "I think that was a vision," he corrected. "But… I've never had a vision without meditating or dreaming before."

Except, that didn't feel quite right. But he couldn't remember a vision happening any other time, so that didn't make sense either. He dismissed the thought with a mental shrug.

"A vision? From the… Force?" Jango asked haltingly. Obi-Wan nodded carefully, watching Jango's face as he struggled with that. "What did you see?"

Obi-Wan studied his brother for a moment, reading the reluctance and self-recrimination in the set of his mouth. "This wasn't because I started meditating more," he stated firmly, watching as his stupid, overprotective brother relaxed minutely. "I'm strong in the Unifying Force and sometimes visions just happen. I wasn't expecting this one, but I'm fine and it's fine."

"That's not what I asked, little brother," Jango chided gently, ignoring the blacksmith's snort and mouthed 'little brother.'

Obi-Wan gave a half-hearted glare and tried to remember the vision. "There were a bunch of Mandalorians in black and blue armor standing in some sort of camp, I think. One of them had a sword like a lightsaber, but the blade was black and curved like a beskad," he recalled, and stopped as Jango and the blacksmith exchanged significant looks. "That lightsaber means something to you?"

"The Darksaber," the blacksmith affirmed. "It was the weapon of Tarre Vizsla over a thousand years ago."

"Vizsla? Like the Death Watch leader we killed?" Obi-Wan asked, looking at Jango for confirmation.

"Yes. Tarre Vizsla was the only Mandalorian Jedi in history, though my buir did not have much opportunity to learn more about them. House Vizsla guards their history closely," Jango explained with a sneer.

"What is known is that Tarre Vizsla forged a unique lightsaber that was kept by the Jedi after their passing. At the Fall of the Old Republic, members of House Vizsla raided the Jedi Temple and reclaimed the Darksaber. The Darksaber was then used to rally the clans, and members of House Vizsla were recognized as Mand'alore for several generations," the blacksmith continued.

Jango snorted. "At least, they were the de facto Mand'alore until the Dral'han. When the Jedi and Republic bombed Mandalore, the Aka'liit - those like us, who remain true to our Mandalorian roots - were forced to hide themselves to survive. House Vizsla continued to use the Darksaber as a symbol of their House, but no one has _been_ a Mand'alor for hundreds of years," Jango stated, shaking his head.

"Or that was true, until my buir, Jaster Mereel, wrote the Supercommando Codex. Many Aka'liit approved of the reforms codified by the Codex and rallied behind him, declaring him Mand'alor the Reformer. Of course, Tor Vizsla and his faction disagreed."

"And they became the Death Watch," Obi-Wan concluded. Jango and the blacksmith nodded, and Obi-Wan tilted his head inquisitively. "But aren't you the Mand'alor now? Didn't you say that when you killed Vizsla? And doesn't the blacksmith call you that?"

The blacksmith laughed, startling Obi-Wan. "Ah, sorry," she said, wiping at her eyes. "I didn't realize I never introduced myself. I'm Goran Borakad, part of Clan Borakad. She/her," she said with a sharp nod.

"Blacksmith? That's your name?" Obi-Wan asked, too surprised to remember his manners. The blacksmith appeared more amused than offended as she smirked and nodded. "Then it's nice to meet you, Blacksmith," Obi-Wan replied politely, inclining his own head. "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi, Clan Fett. Uh, he/him."

"To answer your question," Jango continued bitterly, "I am the Mand'alor, or I was before Galidraan. It's hard to be Mand'alor when no one is alive to follow you."

Oh.

"I'd follow you," Obi-Wan stated softly.

Jango gently squeezed his shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it, vod," he said, only to be interrupted by Blacksmith clearing her throat.

The stocky woman stepped around Jango so she was looking down at the kneeling man instead of over his shoulder. "You forget, Mand'alor, that Clan Borakad has stood behind Clan Fett for over a thousand years and will stand behind Clan Fett for a thousand more or until Arasuum consumes us all," she chided, tone sharp.

Jango ducked his head, and Obi-Wan politely ignored the emotions the man bled into the Force. After a few moments, he took a deep breath and nodded to her. Blacksmith grinned and gently lowered herself to the ground next to Obi-Wan.

"Now that your brother has his head straightened out," she said with a smirk at Jango, "What else did you see?"

"Not much else. The Mandalorian holding the Darksaber raised it up, and all the other Mandalorians kneeled. Then there was a burning blocky-looking city, some Mandalorians wearing weird armor showed up, and the kneeling Mandalorians were all suddenly covered in blood and wearing chains," Obi-Wan recounted.

Jango looked grim as he asked, "Do you think this was a vision of the future?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, pointedly not looking at flash of surprise on Blacksmith's face. "I don't know. Master Yoda always said that the future was always in motion, and that visions can be hard to interpret. This could be the future, or the past, or just a really weird metaphor."

Jango hummed and traded a look with Blacksmith. "I'll keep an ear out," she promised. "I'll let you know if I hear anything, 'Alor."

"Good. I scattered the Death Watch once, and if they come back then I'll scatter them again," he promised, a hint of vengeful delight coloring his words. He shifted and switched topics, "Did you have any other pieces ready?"

Blacksmith shook her head. "Not right now, but since I have an alloy that is nominally acceptable I should be able to finish the other pieces and the beskad by end of next week. And after that, I'll keep experimenting with this alloy. See if I can't improve energy dissipation."

Jango nodded. "Very well. Keep us informed. We're working on restoring the old Fett homestead, so let us know if you need us."

"I will, 'Alor. And verd?" she asked, catching Obi-Wan's eye. "Congratulations."

Obi-Wan smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jango really wished Jaster and the Haat'ade were alive to witness Obi-Wan getting his first real piece of beskar. Mandalorians are a practical people who do not traditionally place a lot of value on ceremonies, but they would celebrate important milestones and definitely appreciate a party. Kid's first beskar'gam would be one of the milestones, but all of Clan Fett and House Mereel were standing in that room already. It's hard to have a raucous party when all the other guests are dead.
> 
> Goran literally means Blacksmith. Obi-Wan is calling Goran "Goran," but he's misinterpreting her name to be "Blacksmith." The swear Goran uses "or until Arasuum consumes us all" is a reference to the ancient Mando sloth god who represents lack of change. No one really believes in Arasuum or Kad Ha'rangir anymore, but they make for great swears.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Vhett/Fett = farmer. There is no "f" in Mando'a  
> Petir'kar'ta = "center heart" - center courtyard of a traditional Mando home. I don't remember if I made up that bit of Mando homes or not  
> Aliit'yaim = "clan home" - general term for a clan's home. Can be a large, multi-building complex or a single home depending on the size of the clan. There's a large (generally outdoor but covered) courtyard where lessons, training, and meetings take place, an armory, a kitchen, a fresher, and a sleeping room at minimum. It's expected that the house is defensible, with multiple traps and escape routes.  
> Adiik = child aged 3-13, used in this context as an aborted way to avoid saying "son (ad)"  
> Verd = solder, warrior, ie an adult


	12. Things Draw Near

The Jedi transport was blatantly obvious as it flew in for a textbook landing. Once it became apparent that Kenobi and the Mandalorian were gone, the spaceport had been reopened and ships began fleeing Gala like rats from a sealiner. Incoming ships, like the chartered ship Master Koon and his replacements were on, stood out like sore thumbs.

Qui-Gon took a moment to center himself before the entry hatch hissed open and a ramp unfolded. Two unfamiliar Jedi - a young male nautolan and an equally young female mirialan - dressed in crisp, new robes descended.

Qui-Gon schooled his face blank as they approached, forcing himself to return their respectful bows as they drew to a halt before him. Their boots were shiny, their tunics neatly pressed, and their lightsabers lacked the sort of wear and weathering that came from experience.

They had sent little more than children to replace him.

He hastily buried the unexpected hurt that realization invoked. This was not an insult to his skills, and even if it was, he was the one who had butchered multiple simple assignments in the first place.

No, he was simply… concerned… that these young Knights would not be up for the task. Yes, that was it. He was _concerned,_ for their sakes.

"Master Jinn," the mirialan greeted. "I am Knight Iotasa Dar, and this is Knight Irve Gilman."

There was a pause where the two Knights clearly expected him to offer his own greetings, but Qui-Gon simply met their gazes. Gilman quickly filled the gap before it could become awkward, "Do you have more information on the situation since your last report?"

Qui-Gon grimaced and forced himself to report, "Election day has come and gone, and Deca Brun was declared the winner. King Beju and the palace have put out a statement that the election was canceled and these results are void while King Beju has repeatedly refused to step down from governorship."

Dar and Gilman traded concerned looks, and Qui-Gon almost let out a bitter chuckle. They had no idea.

"Galacians are split between three main camps. Those who support Brun demand King Beju step down immediately, those who support King Beju continue to adamantly defend his rightful rule and the legality of ignoring the election results, and Prammi's supporters continue to reject both rulers, citing Brun's accepting foreign money and Veda's elections as cause to install their own leader.

"Violent clashes between all three factions are becoming an hourly occurrence, and, as far as I can tell, local law enforcement officers have abandoned their jobs to join their preferred leaders. Prammi has been trying to calm her supporters with limited success while Brun and Beju continue rallying their sides," Qui-Gon reported, shaking his head.

"Has word of King Beju's heritage come to light?" a slightly muffled voice asked.

Qui-Gon dipped his head in a shallow bow, forcing his face to smooth into something pleasant. "Master Koon," he greeted, barely noting the kel dor's return bow. "It has not, but I fear it is only a matter of time."

The three newly arrived Jedi looked grim, and Qui-Gon once again had to question the wisdom in sending such young Knights on such a delicate mission. Were these Knights prepared for outright civil war? Would these Knights be able to handle whatever mess he had inadvertently left behind?

At least he knew his own lineage, legacy, and skill. Say what you will about the man himself, Master Dooku was an excellent warrior and debater, and Master Yoda was his own class of legendary. What kind of background did Knights Dar and Gilman come from?

He tried to dismiss his misgivings. Those thoughts sounded far too close to his own former master's opinions, but it was hard to put his faith in the Jedi High Council after they had dismissed his own conclusions regarding Kenobi.

"Right. Well. This will be interesting," Gilman said tightly, head-tresses twitching agitatedly. He took a steadying breath and bowed low, "Thank you for your insight, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon buried a knee-jerk, 'As if I had a choice,' and simply inclined his head in a return bow, "May the Force be with you."

"May the Force be with you, Masters," the two Knights replied. Qui-Gon watched as they departed, focusing on keeping the sting of failure from touching him. He could have salvaged this mission - he knew that the Force would have provided a way - but he had another duty to the galaxy, no matter how distasteful it was.

Ah well. If the life of a Jedi were an easy one, anyone could do it.

He slowly dragged his attention away from the two Knights to pin on the kel dor standing beside him. It was hard to tell behind the goggles and mask, but Qui-Gon was fairly certain the man was studying him. Part of him wondered what the other Jedi Master saw, and the rest knew it was just as well that he never knew.

"That is his lightsaber?" the kel dor asked, gesturing towards the still somewhat bloody weapon hanging opposite Qui-Gon's own.

"It is," Qui-Gon answered simply, unhooking the weapon to hand it over.

The kel dor hummed and gestured with it towards his person. "May I?"

Qui-Gon inclined his head and the other Jedi Master tucked the weapon into a sleeve. He determinedly did not think about his _relief_ at no longer having to feel its weight at his waist, choosing instead to focus on his distaste at having to participate in this dreadful assignment.

He forced himself to sound at least mildly enthusiastic as he said, "I have been told you are the quite expert when it comes to finding younglings."

Koon chuckled lightly and waved one taloned hand in dismissal. "I'm hardly an expert. Rather, younglings have a tendency to find me."

'Then why are you here?' Qui-Gon wanted to ask, and had to quickly bury the thought to keep the flash of irritation from his features. "I see," he said instead, and chastised himself for the droll tone. He cleared his throat and continued slightly more normally, "That is most unfortunate, since I doubt this youngling will be looking for us."

"Why is that?" Koon asked as he tilted his head inquisitively. Qui-Gon had to focus on not reacting as the man's focus sharpened, "If he has Fallen, would he not seek you out in revenge?"

He grimaced and let his gaze wander to the transport. It was a smaller ship and looked well-maintained, perfect for small charters between major population centers. The nearest such planet was Alsakan, almost half a galaxy away. "Perhaps," he acknowledged slowly. "But the way he fled after our last meeting has me believe he will not seek me out for some time," if ever.

Koon hummed low in his chest, the sound coming out oddly through the mask. "Very well. Do you have any suggestions on how we might find our lost initiate?"

"I searched the local manifests, and five ships managed to leave Galu before the spaceports were closed," Qui-Gon reported with the slightest touch of irritation. Was the kel dor suggesting that he hadn't put the slightest effort into finding Kenobi? He knew his duty better than that. "Two were commercial passenger liners headed to Coruscant and Corellia and the other three were private ships which gave no destination."

"So we have no way to track them," Koon concluded with a heavy sigh. "What do we know of young Kenobi's companion?"

"The Mandalorian?" Qui-Gon asked with no small amount of distaste. "He's a skilled warrior who uses the tools of assassins and bounty hunters."

"Does he have a name?" Koon asked, raising one claw to scratch thoughtfully at his chin.

"Not that I heard, and I never saw the man's face."

"That is disappointing," Koon mumbled thoughtfully. "The armor is distinct, though. Have we tried searching Mandalore's citizenry records?"

Qui-Gon gave the kel dor a look. "You know as well as I do that they are under no obligation to help us," and were likely to bar them from the records out of spite.

"True, but I suppose you hadn't heard," Koon mused, scratching at his chin once more. "A Mandalorian emissary arrived at the Senate to broker a trade agreement a few days ago. They may be more willing to support our search than you expect."

Qui-Gon bit his tongue as the kel dor master led him into the transport. It seemed ridiculous that they were going to call up an ancient enemy and ask if they happened to recognize one of their assassins. Surely probing the Force and following where it led would be the more reliable and expedient option. But he wasn't in charge - and didn't particularly _want_ to be in charge - so what did his opinion matter?

Koon fiddled with the comm table for a few moments and bowed as a slender human male sprang into existence over the projector. "Greetings, Master Jedi. How may we help?" the man asked pleasantly, if a little surprised.

"We are seeking information on an assassin who claims to be Mandalorian," Koon answered.

The Mandalorian sneered. "There are no Mandalorian assassins," he insisted, prompting Qui-Gon's eyebrows to climb his forehead.

"Is that so? Then why did I encounter a man wearing Mandalorian armor attempting to assassinate a political target?" Qui-Gon asked, stepping forward so he would appear next to Koon.

"Did you really. You likely found a charlatan pretending to be Mandalorian," he said scornfully. "There are a lot of those living in the Mandalore Sector, but I assure you, Master Jedi, that they are most definitely _not_ Mandalorian."

Right. But if it talks like a Mandalorian and shoots blasters like a Mandalorian, then what could it be but a Mandalorian?

"Do your records include these people?" Koon asked. At the Mandalorian's affirmative, he continued, "Then can we have access to these records and conduct our own investigation?"

"If you must," the Mandalorian sniffed. He pressed a few keys and his image was replaced by a long string of characters. "That access code will be good for four hours. You'll have to call back for additional time," he warned before abruptly terminating the call, leaving only the string of characters behind.

Qui-Gon shook his head in lieu of rolling his eyes. That had actually gone better than he had expected, but such uncouth behavior was still uncalled for.

New access code in place, the kel dor leaned back as their HoloNet terminal connected to Mandalore's systems. A progress bar crawled across the bottom of the screen at the speed of cold molasses, and Qui-Gon began sliding into a shallow meditation to pass the time. He could feel the other master's regard crawling across his skin, making his hackles rise.

Master Koon was absolutely judging him, and Qui-Gon just knew the man found him short.

Which was… fair, he supposed. His record was far from stellar.

A prickle of curiosity slipped into the Force, too out-of-place in the kel dor's orderly Force presence to be anything less than a polite nudge. Qui-Gon cracked one eyelid open and said, as evenly as he could while irritated, "Just ask."

Koon had the grace to sound mildly embarrassed as he stated, "You seem reluctant. Is this because of the events on Gala?"

Yes, but, "If you are referring to the failed elections and my feelings on leaving them to chase after a lost initiate," Qui-Gon trailed off as he abandoned all pretense of meditation. He sighed. "No."

The kel dor hummed and gave him what Qui-Gon thought was an expectant look. Qui-Gon felt his lips twitch into a frown, "I was not lying when I told the Council that it would be unwise to send me after Kenobi."

"So we should leave him at loose ends while Shadows and Seekers try to find him?" Koon asked levelly.

Qui-Gon made a frustrated sound. "No," that would be disastrous for the galaxy, he just knew it. "No, I should have stopped Kenobi when I had the chance."

"You truly believe that he has Fallen, then?"

Qui-Gon tried to study the kel dor's face, but the mask, goggles, and voluminous robes hid many of the Jedi Master's tells. "I believe that he will, and that it's only a matter of time. I should know the signs - just look at what my last apprentice did."

Whatever thoughts the older master had to offer were interrupted as the HoloNet terminal finished loading. Koon eagerly opened up a search window, and Qui-Gon had to tamp down on his vindication as the kel dor all but deflated at the database parameters. Name, species, gender, age, hair color, eye color, and planet of origin; only one of those they had information for.

Koon had gotten too optimistic, and it felt good to know that he, Qui-Gon Jinn, struggling Jedi Master, was right.

Still, the kel dor entered a few variations on Kenobi's information, and neither Jedi was surprised to find no matches. The boy had been a member of the Jedi Order until only a few months ago. There was no reason to expect him to have an official record in a foreign government's database so quickly, especially not one as wild and unorganized as Mandalore.

Koon blew out a sigh as he leaned back in the terminal seat. Qui-Gon watched as the kel dor thought about the situation for several moments before straightening and opening a nav chart.

The Force shifted, and Qui-Gon couldn't help but ask, quite unimpressed, "Really?"

Koon's head tilted as he gave him a look from the corner of his goggle-covered eyes. "Our young charge is one of the Force's children. The Force will lead us to him, and we shall lead him home," the kel dor stated.

Qui-Gon couldn't help a bitter thought about wasting time calling Mandalore when they could have followed the Force's will and guidance in the first place. But this was Koon's mission more than his own, so if Koon was comfortable wasting time, then Qui-Gon was not going to stop him.

He shook his head to dismiss the thought, and let the kel dor do his thing. As the moment stretched, Qui-Gon couldn't help but shift impatiently. Wasn't the destination obvious? Something, something, talks like a Mandalorian, shoots like a Mandalorian, probably kriffing _lives_ like a Mandalorian.

He breathed deep, and waited for the kel dor to finish consulting the Force. "You have a destination," the kel dor stated more than asked before Qui-Gon even realized Koon was paying attention to him.

Qui-Gon scowled and went to tell their pilot to begin plotting a course for Mandalore.

-0-

Obi-Wan wasn't sure why he felt so restless. Jango and he practiced katas and sparred every morning, and between the physical exercise and his own meditation practice, he should have been happily settled. But whenever he tried to focus on the education modules Jango insisted he needed to complete, he found his mind wandering and limbs jittering.

Maybe he was picking up on Jango's moods? It felt like the man was never more than a blaster shot away, bleeding worry and concern and a thin thread of guilt into the Force while he poked away at his datapad or oversaw the construction droids. It would almost be sweet if it wasn't so cloying.

When he tried telling Jango to stop worrying, his brother had given him a look that told Obi-Wan he would have better luck convincing the sun to stop shining.

So, bored, frustrated, and way too restless for his own good, he had done the next reasonable thing.

He complained to Hondo, who was exactly as unhelpful as Obi-Wan should have expected.

And that put Obi-Wan back at square one; bored, frustrated, restless, and now with a pirate possibly conspiring to kidnap him from across the galaxy.

At least their new home was coming along nicely. The escape tunnels had taken a while to dig out, but once they were complete the rest of the structure had sprung up practically overnight. The droids still needed to run electrical, plumbing, and the security perimeter before they could consider it actually habitable, but the bones were there and Obi-Wan was starting to get excited.

Which really didn't help his restlessness, but that was beside the point.

Obi-Wan glanced back at his galactic history lesson and groaned. As fascinating as the Draggulch Period and the buildup of the Sictis Wars could be, he just could not, for the life of him, _focus._

"You okay there, Ob'ika?" Jango asked as he glanced up from his datapad.

Obi-Wan let his head flop onto the table and morosely poked at his own datapad. "No," he mumbled. "Can we spar or something? I don't want to study."

Jango sighed and set his datapad aside. Obi-Wan felt a twinge of guilt for interrupting and dragged himself up to return to his ineffective studying. The words were right there, but they just didn't stick in his brain no matter how many times he read them.

"I could use a break as well," Jango admitted, and Obi-Wan eagerly turned his attention back to his brother. "Let's go in to town, pick up some supplies, check in with Blacksmith, and see about finding a local bounty to hunt. If we can stay within Concord Dawn and its moons, we can return here if anything happens at the homestead."

"Really?" Obi-Wan asked hopefully. At Jango's confirming nod, Obi-Wan grinned and said, "I'll go get one of the sleds ready. Meet you outside!"

Judging by the tone of the beeps, CD-47 had many rude things to say when Obi-Wan used his vambrace to summon an empty hoversled from the construction site. Obi-Wan took the implied abuse serenely, though he was curious exactly how colorful the insults got.

Ceedee was still complaining when Jango joined him, fully kitted out in beskar'gam. He seemed amused by the scene, though his tone implied anything but when he ordered, "I'm not paying you to insult my brother. Get back to work."

The droid uttered a few rude beeps in reply, but did ultimately obey its client's command. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and grabbed Jango's arm, dragging him away from the cantankerous droid and towards the town.

The long walk to Arpat helped burn a little energy, but Obi-Wan was still twitchy when they reached the town gates. It felt like everyone was watching them - or at least watching them more than usual - and it sent a thrill racing up his spine. He reached out with the Force, but he couldn't feel any immediate threats, just a vague _something_ hovering on the edge of his perception.

"Bounty or Blacksmith first?" Jango asked as he paused in the middle of the street.

"Blacksmith," Obi-Wan decided, leading the way into Blacksmith's squat shop. "Maybe she's finished my beskad."

Obi-Wan was starting to suspect Blacksmith liked keeping her storefront empty, since every time he arrived she was tinkering away with something in the back. He supposed it was possible she just liked keeping busy instead of playing shopkeeper, but that really begged the question why she bothered keeping a storefront in the first place.

"One - ow! - minute," Blacksmith called from the back.

Obi-Wan shot a concerned look towards the forge, but he didn't sense any danger or hear anything else so he supposed Blacksmith was fine. It was taking a while for her to join them, though, and Obi-Wan felt his attention start to wander over the shoe display and across the vibroknives.

"Hey Jango, why are these knives missing bits out of their handles? Wouldn't that make them difficult to hold?" he asked, pointing at a few of the longer weapons.

Jango stepped next to him and glanced at the indicated spot. He hummed and answered, voice falling into what Obi-Wan recognized as his teaching cadence, "They're for a spring-latch mechanism you can add to your vambraces."

"And if you want one, we'll have to rework what you've got," Blacksmith interrupted. Obi-Wan's head snapped up as he flashed her a smile, which she met with a wry twist of her lips. "Sorry, verd'ika, but your vambraces are a bit too small to attach _all_ the bells and whistles."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "That's okay. I'm not sure I'd like a blade attached to my arm like that anyways."

"Glad to hear it, since all those blades are 'eh' at best. I've already got the rest of your 'gam ready, and making a decent blade would take at least another day on top of the three days I still need for your beskad," she said dismissively. Her smile shifted and became steely as she politely ordered, "Now, 'Alor, verd'ika, if you would follow me."

For the first time Obi-Wan had ever seen it, the forge was clean and orderly. The piles of half-repaired farming equipment had been moved against the walls, leaving the space in front of the forge where the work desk had been almost completely empty. His footsteps faltered as he caught sight of the armor rack that took its place.

His armor - his second skin, his _beskar'gam_ \- gleamed in the low light.

It felt like a dream as he reached out and lightly ran his fingertips across the kar'ta beskar in the center of the cuirass. The cool metal was smooth, expertly formed, and just waiting to be worn.

He tore himself away from the armor and turned to Jango and Blacksmith. "Can I wear it?"

Some emotion Obi-Wan didn't care to name twisted inside Jango as Blacksmith burst into laughter. "Would defeat the point if you didn't, kid. One sec," she said before disappearing deeper into her forge. She returned a moment later with her arms full of interface pieces, and stood patiently right next to the armor rack.

Obi-Wan reached out to grab the first piece, and fought to keep his hurt and confusion from showing when Blacksmith took a swift step back. She flashed him an apologetic look before looking pointedly at Jango.

Jango was visibly steeling himself as he slowly grabbed the first piece. "Are you ready?" he asked, completely unnecessarily.

"Of course," Obi-Wan answered with an excited smile. He knew Jango flashed his own smile behind his helmet before carefully, almost ritually, helping Obi-Wan attach the interfaces to his kute.

The beskar came next, and Jango grabbed the first set of plates slowly enough Obi-Wan would almost call it hesitant, if such a word could even be applied to his brother. He solemnly met Jango's eyes as the first piece - his other vambrace - clicked into place. Cuisses, knee guards, greaves, and boot guards came next, and Obi-Wan tried not to think about what it meant for Jango Fett, his brother, the Mand'alor, to be kneeling to help him don his beskar'gam for the first time. Then the moment passed as his spaulders, neck guard, cuirass, and finally the kar'ta beskar were locked in to place.

Jango hovered less than an arm's reach away with Obi-Wan's now finished helmet held between his gloved hands, bleeding a truly dizzying number of emotions into the Force. Obi-Wan held his gaze steady as the man paused for a long moment before slowly passing the helmet into Obi-Wan's grasp.

"Vod."

"Vod," Obi-Wan returned. He stared down at the helmet for a second, taking a moment to savor it. Yes, he had technically received a vambrace earlier at the impromptu test fit, but this was _important._ This was _real._ This was his first complete _beskar'gam_.

He took a deep breath and slid the helmet over his face.

He knew there was a button somewhere to activate the HUD, and he felt around the earcups trying to find it. He sensed movement in his peripheral, and a moment later felt a hand grab his thumb to direct it towards a hidden switch. He flicked it and the HUD sprang to life.

Jango was watching him intently, hands hovering near Obi-Wan's sides, while Blacksmith watched proudly in the background. Obi-Wan cocked his head curiously before understanding flooded him. He scoffed. "Jango, I'm not going to have a vision and pass out every time I put the helmet on."

His voice echoed oddly, but it didn't sound like it was distorted by a vocoder. He scowled and fumbled at his vambrace control, trying to find the switch for internal comms. There was a clearing of a throat in his ear and Obi-Wan glanced up to see Jango indicating the appropriate control on his own vambrace.

He activated the comms and repeated what he had said.

"I know, I heard you the first time," Jango said kindly, but Obi-Wan could see the tension draining from his brother's shoulders the longer they went without an unexpected vision. "Your environmental seals aren't set, so you're not sound proof."

"Oh," Obi-Wan said, rather eloquently. "How do I do that?"

Whatever answer Jango was going to give was interrupted by a commlink chiming loudly enough to wake the dead. Obi-Wan jumped and dissolved into giggles at Jango's flare of irritation. They both turned to stare as Blacksmith flushed and stomped off, grumbling mostly to herself, "Who the kriff is messaging me right now? I thought I turned that damned thing off."

Obi-Wan caught Jango's gaze and beamed. And then remembered his brother couldn't see his face.

Clearly, he had to get used to his armor. He was used to trading conspiratorial looks with people, and it would be very different trying to silently communicate with his face covered by beskar. It would be very different trying to _move_ while covered head to toe in beskar.

He stretched his arms out and sank into the opening stance for Form I, noting how his new plates shifted and pressed down. He frowned as his arms started to droop, the extra mass wearing on his muscles far faster than he had expected, and summoned the Force to bolster himself.

Was that cheating or a misuse of the Force? Probably, but it was going to take a while to build up his strength.

He carefully flowed into the second stance and couldn't help the massive grin he sent towards Jango. It felt _good_ to wear beskar, to connect with this new part of his life in such a tangible, weighty way. Jango watched him with a critical eye, and Obi-Wan could feel his approval and pride and wonderfully warm regard almost as well as he could feel his new armor.

He was just beginning to shift into the third stance when Blacksmith returned. She looked uncharacteristically troubled, commlink clenched in one fist and lips pressed into a thin line. Obi-Wan quickly rose out of his lunge, a question on his tongue.

"What is it?" Jango asked warily before Obi-Wan could figure out how to turn on external comms.

"Are you two expecting company?" she asked instead of answering, concerned gaze flicking between the two of them.

Obi-Wan shook his head and earned a worried grimace from the blacksmith.

"I said I would keep my ears open for any interesting rumors," she opened. "Well, that was a friend from Sundari. Apparently two Jedi wandered into an Aka'liit bar seeking information on a Mandalorian in silver armor accompanied by a human boy with red hair."

Obi-Wan felt his breath freeze even as Jango's general feel of danger sharpened to a deadly point. Blacksmith smiled grimly, eyes flicking back over them. "I'm sure it's a coincidence," she said dryly.

"Obi-Wan is my brother. I adopted him. The Jedi have no business here," Jango stated firmly, warningly.

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement, even as he ignored the tiny bubble of worry that started to grow in his belly. Did the Jedi have business with them? Jedi had business _everywhere_ , and Gala had not exactly gone well.

"You're sure?" Blacksmith asked, face inscrutable. Jango nodded immediately, but Obi-Wan had the distinct impression that she was more interested in Obi-Wan's slower affirmative. She sighed and rubbed a palm down her face. "My friend doesn't know anything, not about why Jedi are searching nor about you two. He passed the information along because it was a curiosity and he knew I would be interested. I don't know how true that is for everyone the Jedi will meet."

Or how long it would take the Jedi to leave Sundari and check somewhere like Arpat. How many people had seen Jango and himself wandering through town? How many people would see a Jedi and offer whatever scraps of information they had?

He took a deep, shuddery breath.

Jango was watching him, and Obi-Wan forced himself to take another deep breath. His brother would follow his lead on this. Whatever he wanted, Jango would do his best to see happen.

They could run. Board the _Legacy_ and flee into the black. Blacksmith would keep their secret, and they could vanish so thoroughly they would never be found.

But he didn't want to run. That was the coward's route, and it wouldn't stop the Jedi from searching for him. They would have to keep running. They would have to abandon their lives, their identities, their _home_ , just to stay ahead of whoever came after them. And while Obi-Wan knew Jango would abandon the homestead in a heartbeat if he asked, he couldn't bring himself to do that. It wasn't fair to his brother.

Which left one choice.

He caught Jango's gaze and squared his shoulders. "We should face them. They're not going to give up otherwise," he said.

Jango studied him for a moment before turning to Blacksmith. "Call your contact. We have a message for him."

-0-

Qui-Gon tried not to let his irritation show as he gracefully left the hovercraft. Two days, they had spent. Two days wandering to every watering hole, every popular eatery, every major park hoping _someone_ had seen _something_ and was willing to share that information.

It was a waste of time. Clearly the Force did not want to deliver its burgeoning Dark Side user into their hands, and they should both return to the Temple. The Shadows would have better luck, and he could go back to serving the galaxy and the Force to the best of his abilities.

Qui-Gon sighed internally. He knew most of his bad mood was because he didn't like the feel of this planet. It was an ugly world, so deeply twisted and scarred after centuries of warfare that whole swathes of the planet were left practically uninhabitable. Only the bio-domes could sustain life in the deserts of Mandalore, and that kind of stubborn defiance to nature and the Force itself was disgusting.

He looked forward to returning to their ship. At least on board, there were a handful of naturally shaped plants that he could focus on in lieu of the _everything else_ surrounding him.

Of course, because the Force was punishing him, a stranger sporting the blond hair and blue tunics that were so common on this rock had to block their ship's entry ramp. He - they - whatever - had dragged a crate over so he could sit and study his datapad comfortably while he waited, and barely glanced up as they approached.

"Greetings," Koon said once they were in hearing range. "Can we help you?"

The man glanced at them, taking in their robes and lingering on the lightsabers resting at their hips, and slowly set his datapad aside. He rose to his feet and said, "That depends. You are the Jedi who have been asking questions around here?"

Qui-Gon tensed and stretched out with the Force. They were surrounded by sentients, but they didn't feel like danger. Dock workers and tourists wandered around, moved cargo, and generally ignored what seemed like another innocent conversation.

"We are. Did you have something to share?" Koon asked politely.

Instead of answering, the Mandalorian reached into a belt pouch and withdrew a small holorecorder. He pressed a button and the bare head and armored shoulders of a human boy - of Obi-Wan Kenobi - sprang into view. The boy looked pale, or maybe that was just the blue tinge of the recording erasing what little color the boy had, but gazed ahead squarely.

"Hello. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I heard you have been searching for me," the boy said evenly. He took a deep breath and then a determined, almost challenging, look shadowed his face. "I won't run. I'm not a coward, it won't help, and that is not the right way. Land at the nearest town and meet me at the attached coordinates next Taungsday," he ordered before his blue gaze flicked to one side. His mouth turned down into a faint grimace before he finished with a warning, "And don't bring any weapons."

And just like that, the image of the boy vanished. The Mandalorian made a gesture, tossed the recording into Koon's waiting hands, and went about gathering his things like he hadn't turned their entire search on its head.

"Why are you helping us?" Qui-Gon demanded. No one else on this Force forsaken rock had been particularly thrilled to help, not even Duke Kryze, the supposed Republic ally. Why would a Mandalorian they had never met before help a pair of Jedi?

The Mandalorian shrugged. "Just doing my duty. Bal Mand'alor, an vencuyan mhi."

With that weird and possibly hostile farewell, the Mandalorian departed. Qui-Gon glanced at Koon, but the kel dor's face was as inscrutable as ever.

He didn't know what was coming, but he hoped the Force would be with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plo: Younglings tend to find me. And this youngling will find you.  
> Qui-Gon: No he won't.  
> Obi-Wan: Bet.
> 
> Qui-Gon is really delusional. His "bad mood" started well before Mandalore and there definitely is life outside the bio-domes. He's just uninterested in it, so it therefore doesn't exist. Also, Obi-Wan overestimates how much people in the Mandalore Sector would help Jedi. The odds were pretty good no one on Concord Dawn would rat him, if only to stick it to the Jedi.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Bal Mand'alor, an vencuyan mhi = "and the Mand'alor, all help us survive," the last lines of the Resol'nare rhyme


	13. Some Doors Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I don't post this, I'm going to end up rewriting it for the fifth time.

Concord Dawn was very different from Mandalore. It bore its own scars, true, but abandoned homesteads and scorched farmlands were a far cry from expansive deserts threatening to swallow a whole planet.

Plo glanced at where Master Jinn was strapped in beside him and wondered, not for the first time, if he should offer the younger master some assistance in meditating. The human had been tense and erratic since the moment Plo had met him, though the young master had done a decent job concealing it. But the chances of the human accepting Plo's offer in good faith were slim, and he knew, like any lifelong public servant knew, that you could not help someone who didn't want to be helped.

He heaved a sigh that he hoped sounded more like a deep, calming breath and returned his attention to their mission. The coordinates Kenobi had sent pointed to a field outside the provincial town of Arpat, and their orbital scans had not had much more to say on that. An earlier flyover indicated it was a field not far from an abandoned homestead, just like any of the hundreds of other fields and abandoned homesteads on this planet.

Oren, their chartered pilot, brought them in for a gentle landing at Arpat, and Plo gracefully rose to his feet. "We shall be back," he said with a shallow bow.

"Yeah, uh, may the Force be with you," Oren replied awkwardly, barely glancing up from the control panel.

Plo smiled at the sullustan's attempt before leading the way off the ship. He could feel the stares of Arpat's residents as they disembarked just like he could feel their relief and suspicion as the Jedi immediately turned away from town and towards the countryside. Jinn prickled at the attention, and Plo subtly began projecting calm. The other Jedi hardly seemed to notice.

The first sign that they were approaching Kenobi's coordinates was the ship on the horizon. It was a little larger than Oren's, which would make it a good size for a small crew to live in, and neither Jedi missed how the nose cannons were pointed at them. Plo couldn't sense any immediate danger, so he, unlike Jinn, did not allow his steps to falter.

A hatch opened and two Mandalorians, one in mostly green armor and the other in grey and blue, emerged. The grey Mandalorian drew to a stop not far from the ramp while the other came a few paces closer.

"Masters," the younger - or so Plo assumed by the voice and the height - Mandalorian greeted with a Temple-perfect bow.

"Young Kenobi, I presume?" Plo asked with his own return bow. At the Mandalorian's nod, Plo continued, "Greetings. I am Master Plo Koon, and I believe you are familiar with Master Qui-Gon Jinn already."

Kenobi turned his head to deliver a blank stare towards Jinn before returning to Plo. "Yes. We've met."

Plo paused, noting the chilly tone behind those words and wondering what it meant. Master Jinn was certain that Kenobi had or would Fall, but the boy in front of him felt calm, if wary. And Plo could hardly fault the youngling for his wariness; between two undeniably intimidating Jedi Masters searching for him and what Plo knew of what happened on Gala and Bandomeer, only a fool would not be wary.

"You are not in trouble," he said, and almost had to send a sharp reprimand to Jinn at the doubt the man leaked into the Force. The other master tamped down fast enough Plo doubted Kenobi even noticed. "We are here to speak with you and bring you back to the Temple."

Some emotion - surprise, disbelief, fear - flickered through the Force before Kenobi's shields slammed into place.

"You aren't taking him," the other Mandalorian cut in, voice durasteel hard and razer sharp as he stalked forward. Kenobi twisted around to face them, shoulders set in a pose Plo recognized from raising more than a few prickly teenagers to knighthood, though it did little to stop the grey Mandalorian's approach. "I adopted him. By Republic law, I have custody of him, so you cannot take him anywhere without my consent."

A wisp of annoyance escaped Kenobi's shields as the kid shifted to get his companion's attention. Kenobi's look was met evenly, and Plo had the impression the two were conversing silently when Jinn snorted and stated, "By Republic law, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jedi. He already has guardians, so _you_ have no legal say here."

"Obi-Wan is no longer a Jedi," the Mandalorian asserted, barely turning their helmet to glare at the Jedi Master.

"You do not get to decide that," Jinn reprimanded.

The look the Mandalorian gave Jinn clearly conveyed, "And you do?"

"Do I get a say in this?" Kenobi interrupted as he ripped his helmet off to glare daggers at both his companion and Jinn. The Mandalorian immediately settled and Jinn glanced at Plo before visibly reigning himself in. "Thank you. I want to hear what Master Koon has to say."

Plo glanced between Kenobi and his companion, weighing his options. Kenobi looked healthy and it seemed like his companion respected his wishes, but that was no guarantee the Mandalorian didn't have some leverage or other power over Kenobi. The youngling was still just that: a youngling, and his Jedi training made him a valuable one at that.

Would Kenobi be able to speak freely with the Mandalorian hovering nearby? Plo hoped so, but he wasn't certain.

"Is there a place we can speak privately?" Plo asked, eyes firmly planted on the Mandalorian to gauge his reaction.

The Mandalorian bristled, and Plo noted how the movement brought his hands closer to the blasters holstered on either thigh. Plo subtly began to gather the Force around him, prepared to dive away at a moment's notice.

"Sure. We can use the _Legacy_ ," Kenobi chirped, defusing the tension with a sharp look at the Mandalorian.

The ship looming over the four of them was deeper in the Mandalorian's domain than Plo was hoping for, but the ease at which Kenobi offered the space was encouraging. The youngling barely paused to exchange a few words in what Plo suspected was Mando'a with his companion before leading Plo up the ramp and down a narrow hallway towards a comm table.

"Is here good?" Kenobi asked, indicating the L-shaped crash bench surrounding the table.

Plo inclined his head, took a seat, and waited patiently as Kenobi perched on the edge of his side of the bench. The kid looked nervous, and Plo immediately regretted taking the seat closer to the door. He carefully extended a sense of apology and peace to the boy.

The boy accepted the mental touch far more willingly than Plo could have expected from someone who had allegedly recently touched the Dark Side. He settled into the lumpy cushion and offered a tentative smile to the kel dor.

"May I ask who your companion is?" Plo asked conversationally.

A fond smile lit Kenobi's face as he glanced at the dark visor of the helmet clutched in his hands before returning his gaze to Plo. "He's Jango Fett, and I apologize for his behavior. He gets a bit prickly around strangers, but he really does mean well."

"How did you two meet?" Plo asked, still keeping his tone light and friendly.

That was evidently a loaded question, as the boy's already pale face turned ashen and his fingers spasmed across the green paint. Plo felt his alarm rise, and offered more warmth and comfort through the Force. Kenobi visibly rallied himself, took a deep breath, and stated, "We were… opposite each other. On a spice freighter."

"A spice freighter?" Plo repeated, surprised. "How did you get there?"

The tale that tumbled out of the boy was concerning, to say the least. The youngling couldn't say what happened to him - that he had been _sold_ into _slavery_ by Jinn's own former apprentice - but he stumbled around the issue enough for Plo to fill in the blanks. The nights spent huddling with a stranger for warmth and the days spent performing dangerous labor for scraps of food had clearly worn on him, but in a stunning show of resiliency, the kid seemed more ashamed by the whole ordeal than anything.

Plo felt his heart break. Both this kid and his friend had gone through something traumatic, and from the way Kenobi struggled to talk about it, neither had gotten the support they needed to move on despite both their best efforts.

As the story stuttered through Galidraan and Corellia, Kenobi's shame made a little more sense. He was embarrassed to admit that he had been standing by - and even participated in - a revenge tour across Galidraan and Corellia. Kenobi tried to justify their actions, recalling how the governor had mistreated his people and how the Mandalorians had been given a chance to surrender, but it was clear guilt still chipped away at him.

But Kenobi seemed determined to keep moving forward, and Plo recognized the Temple's fingerprints on that particular trait. Too many Jedi would shelve their own guilt and unease indefinitely if it meant helping someone else. Too many Jedi would push aside their own health to keep pushing onwards.

And as Kenobi described what he learned of Xanatos duCrion's dealings, Plo had to acknowledge that the kid was working hard to help many someones else. While Kenobi may have been the first person duCrion actively sold, the man had evidently funded and profited from slavery under the table for years.

How had duCrion managed to do so much harm in so few years without the Jedi noticing? A Shadow should have been keeping tabs on him, making sure he settled into his new life and watching to guard against the return of the Sith.

He would have to find that answer once they returned to the Temple.

Kenobi's story continued, detailing how he had set up a trap for duCrion. His voice held an edge of desperation as he explained their plan; how they would lure duCrion in with a meeting for future Galacian mining rights, isolate him in a containment field, release Kenobi's research, and turn him over to the justice system.

"Xanatos…" Kenobi trailed off, blinking back tears as he stared at his helmet. "He sensed me immediately. I broke cover to give chase while Jango covered me, but then--" he broke off, swallowing hard. "Master Jinn tried to stop me, but Jango held him off so I could pursue Xanatos.

"We fought on the rooftop. He was better than me, but when he learned that I released what I learned about him on the HoloNet, he said I ruined him. I thought he was going to kill me. He--he--charged and stabbed himself on my beskad. It was awful," Kenobi whispered. "And sometimes I can still…" he trailed off with a full-body shudder.

Plo barely refrained himself from scooting along the bench to wrap the kid in a hug. He settled for extending a general feeling of support through the Force.

"You have been very brave, young one," Plo soothed, mind spinning through how to proceed. The boy did not feel as thought he was lying, but something did not add up. This story was not the same story Jinn had provided, though they shared many of the same beats.

"I'm not done yet," Kenobi croaked ominously, sending alarm zinging down Plo's spine. Kenobi cleared his throat and forced his eyes to meet Plo's, though they darted away almost immediately. "Master Jinn appeared. He said…" Kenobi trailed off, gaze a thousand parsecs away.

"What did he say?" Plo gently prompted, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his gut that told him he would not like the answer.

"He said I Fell," Kenobi whispered, sounding absolutely stricken. Plo felt his stomach drop. "He said it was a good thing that I wasn't a Jedi and that I never would be a Jedi. He said that I shamed the Temple. But I didn't! I swear I didn't."

Plo sagged in his seat. Of all the things to tell a child! Jedi children were a resilient bunch, true, but at the end of the day they were still _children_.

And because of the Jedi, this child was a mess.

"Meditate with me," Plo invited, heart breaking at the desperate look on the kid's face. He couldn't fix this disaster, not entirely and not on his own, but he could at least make it better.

The kid hesitated a moment, too worked up to slip immediately into the calm embrace of the Force. Plo took a few slow, audible breaths, smiled approvingly as Kenobi copied him, and carefully eased himself into a light meditation.

The Force ebbed and flowed between them and through them, warm and welcoming and incomprehensively vast. The youngling's brilliant flame, simultaneously right next to Plo and a hundred parsecs away, choked and sputtered under the weight of his emotions, but Plo could watch as it slowly settled into a constant, steady burn. Plo sent a wave of approval through the Force and was amused at how the light glowed a little brighter before it began to flicker and dance with conflicting feelings.

Plo could help with that. Plo _would_ help with that.

He gently tapped against the boy's shields to get his attention. Once he knew he had it, he slowly lowered his outermost shields and let his presence spill out to mingle in the space between them.

Kenobi caught on quickly and copied his actions. This was a variation on a creche meditation, meant to help Jedi connect with and soothe one another, and the boy recognized it. He felt Plo's presence and slowly oriented himself to follow along, smoothing out the agitated ripples and emulating a deep, still pool.

Plo felt pride at the youngling's technique. It was far from perfect, but time and practice were the only cures for that. And it really was excellent for someone who had just spent several stressful months outside the Temple without a Jedi Master to guide and protect them.

A vague thought and whisper of intent drifted across the Force moments before Kenobi dropped all his shields and shoved his presence at Plo. "Here!" the youngling all but screamed. "See that I haven't Fallen!"

Plo stumbled at the unexpected onslaught, pushing the youngling's well-meaning but ill-advised and clumsy attempt away. Disappointment, concern, and hurt spilled into the Force as the boy retreated back into himself.

The Jedi Master followed the boy's presence, stopping right at the edge of what kept Obi-Wan Kenobi from drifting away into the Force. He sent a soft apology towards that paper-thin membrane, sharing how he had been surprised and scared in that moment. Taking down one's shields and throwing oneself at another in the Force was a good way to hurt one or both parties, and Plo had not wanted to inadvertently invade Kenobi's soul.

The boy peeked back, his own apology drifting through the Force. He had been scared Plo wouldn't believe him, that Plo would think he was a liar and had Fallen because that was what Jinn would have done. He had seen an opportunity to prove himself and had taken it, consequences be damned.

Plo returned with an admonishment. That impulsiveness was dangerous. How would Fett have handled Kenobi hurting himself? Plo would have been stricken as well, and they all would have been hard pressed to find a Mind Healer in the Outer Rim.

Kenobi apologized again, the Force growing agitated as his mind spun up horrible possibilities. Plo reached out and soothed the worst of the waves, offering forgiveness and the mental equivalent of a warm hug.

The youngling moved - with great restraint, Plo's warning still on his mind - into that embrace, snuggling into Plo's warmth like a starved tooka kitten. Plo helped calm the boy, patrolling the edges of Kenobi and soothing away his distress.

They both slowly settled into a lazy, calm pool, their selves mixing and mingling at the edges until it was hard to tell where Obi-Wan Kenobi ended and Plo Koon began. This close, this intricately linked, and without the boy's emotions clouding their connection, Plo could just glance into the youngling's heart. It still shone with the simple clarity of youth, but shadows of experience had begun to form. One day those shadows would serve to keep people like Plo from seeing too deeply, too intimately, but for now, the way was clear enough for Plo to see almost into the core of what made Obi-Wan Kenobi _Obi-Wan Kenobi._

The boy was so painfully _good_ , it was hard to look at. He wore guilt and sorrow and compassion like a shroud, used those emotions to temper his Light, but Plo could see how deep down, the boy just wanted to _help_.

If the boy had ever Fallen, he had also clawed his way back.

Plo sent a wave of something - compassion, warmth, understanding, approval, Plo wasn't entirely sure - towards Obi-Wan, and was mildly surprised when it was caught and funneled down the gossamer threads of a nascent Force bond.

He should not have been surprised, he thought as he followed the threads to unravel. This meditation had become far more intense than he had intended, and it was possible Kenobi was the kind to build strong bonds from practically nothing.

The root of the bond was easy enough to locate, and Plo felt a momentary regret at what he was about to do. Force bonds were precious, but it was doubtful Obi-Wan knew he had forged this connection. If Obi-Wan wanted to become his student, then they could renew the bond, but for now, Plo was little more than a stranger.

He gently untangled himself and let the threads drift away, quite certain that little Obi-Wan never noticed a thing.

The child's other bonds gleamed in the Force, and Plo once more regretted having to terminate their own connection. The bonds were beautiful, some thick and brimming with love and support and others thin and shimmery and singing of joyful afternoons spent in the Temple. This was a child who shared his heart and friendship as easily as he breathed. It was no wonder he had formed a bond with Plo after a single shared meditation.

Plo chuckled and made to return to himself when something caught his eye. Another bond lay hidden among the gossamer strands, but this one was stretched taut and painful. Someone, either Obi-Wan or the person on the other side, was pulling away without care for what it would do to the other.

He reached out to try and relieve the tension--

\--And gasped as he came back to himself, an impression of both members of that frigid bond lingering in his mind.

"Oh, little Obi," Plo murmured, heart breaking. "I'm so sorry."

-0-

Obi-Wan rubbed at his temples, hoping it would clear his vision faster. His head didn't quite _hurt_ , but it didn't feel _good_ either. It was like hitting his funny bone, but behind his eyes and was all around unpleasant.

"Oh, little Obi," Master Koon murmured just loudly enough for Obi-Wan to hear. "I'm so sorry."

Obi-Wan made a curious sound and was relieved when his vision finally resolved itself. The kel dor was radiating sadness and sympathy and care, and it took everything Obi-Wan had not to throw himself into a hug.

Master Koon looked like he would give great hugs. Almost as good as Jango. ~~And maybe even better, if their shared meditation was any indicator.~~

"We failed you, young one. We failed you in ways I can only begin to understand, and for that you have my - and the entire Jedi Order's - deepest apologies," Master Koon said.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest and was cut off by Master Koon raising one taloned hand.

"When you were sent to Bandomeer, you were supposed to be protected and guided by Master Jinn until you could be apprenticed by the AgriCorps Master there. You never should have wound up on a slave ship, and that is only the beginnings of our failures," Master Koon stated mournfully. "Did you know you have a connection in the Force with Master Jinn?"

"I do?" Obi-Wan asked, surprised. "But I thought…" Master Jinn _hated_ him. He had been uninterested at best back at the Temple, and Master Jinn's words at Gala spoke for themselves. Why would Master Jinn have formed a Force bond with him if he hated him?

"I doubt it was intentional," Master Koon assured, "but there is a connection between you two. You make bonds very easily, my young friend," he said with a chuckle.

"How can I-- I mean, how do I…?" Obi-Wan trailed off, struggling to find the right phrasing. It wasn't that he didn't necessarily _want_ a bond. Connections with other people were important! It was just that he didn't want _that_ bond.

"Break it off?" Master Koon asked. Obi-Wan nodded and the kel dor shifted so his posture resembled a teaching master's. "It's too tight for me to break without hurting you. I can show you how to weaken it until it fades on its own, but that process may take weeks or even months. Our most expedient option is to have Master Jinn help."

Obi-Wan shared a grimace with Master Koon, both of them understanding why that would be less than ideal.

"But he'll break it off, won't he? Without hurting me?"

"Considering your relationship? Yes, I expect he will want to," Master Koon answered dryly. He sighed, "If you want the bond gone immediately, I can monitor and try to protect you from any backlash. But the safest option will be to have a Mind Healer assist back at the Temple."

"Oh," Obi-Wan said, glancing away. He wasn't sure he could stand going to the Temple, not when his own situation was so tenuous, and he especially wasn't sure he wanted to keep a connection with Master Jinn for that long. "I," mostly, "trust you. We can try it here."

Master Koon studied him for a moment before nodding, a ripple of warm comfort echoing through the Force. Obi-Wan felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. The kel dor master was fond of doing that, and Obi-Wan found he was thirsty for that little extra connection.

"Then we shall. If I may, though, I would like to finish speaking with you about other things first," Master Koon said before waiting for Obi-Wan's tiny nod to continue.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," the kel dor said gravely, ducking his horned head to catch Obi-Wan's gaze. Obi-Wan stiffened at the new tone, anticipation zinging down his spine. "I understand that you have faced challenges beyond what any person your age should, and you have excelled through those trials. You have kept true to the Force and conducted yourself admirably. It would be my greatest honor to train you as my Padawan."

Obi-Wan felt his breath freeze in his throat even as his cheeks burned with embarrassment at the praise. Hope - and he didn't even know he _wanted_ hope, that he _could have_ hope - bloomed painfully in his chest, squeezing against all of his wants and desires and shattered dreams. He could be a Jedi.

"Really?" he asked, barely hearing Master Koon's confirmation, mind still spinning around a single glorious thought:

_He could still be a Jedi._

He had spent his whole life working towards becoming a Jedi Knight. He had spent years dreaming of building his lightsaber, of traveling to distant worlds and helping the downtrodden, of fighting for others and serving the Force. He had thought Master Jinn had salted, burned, and danced on the ashes of that dream, but now Master Koon was offering--

He could go home.

He could see Bant and Quin and Garen and Reeft and all of his creche friends again. He would no longer be Oafy-Wan Kenerdy, rejected initiate, too old and too angry to ever find a Master. Instead he would be Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan of Master Plo Koon.

It was wonderful, and he couldn't wait to tell Jango.

But… Jango.

Accepting Master Koon's offer would mean having to leave Jango. He was attached to his brother, and he knew Jango was just as, if not more, attached to him. Could he really do it? Could he leave Jango to become a Jedi Padawan and eventually a Jedi Knight?

He didn't want to, but he so desperately wanted to be a Jedi.

Could he give up one family for another?

"Thank you for your generous offer," Obi-Wan forced himself to say as he realized Master Koon was waiting on him. "May I have a moment to meditate on this?"

Master Koon inclined his head in a regal bow before climbing to his feet. "Of course, little Obi. Take all the time you need. I shall await your decision with Master Jinn and your companion."

Obi-Wan nodded distractedly, thoughts still spinning out of control. He barely noticed Master Koon's departure as he closed his eyes and sank into the Force.

-0-

Saying Jango was displeased with Obi-Wan's decision to speak with the Jetii - alone! - would be like saying water was wet or stars were hot. He trusted the Jetiise less far than he could throw them, and he just knew something bad was going to happen.

At least it was the kel dor who had gone with Obi-Wan. The only thing he trusted from the other Jetii - the one from Gala - was that blasters _would_ be pulled.

The other Jetii looked implacably calm despite the very high likelihood he could sense Jango's aggressive thoughts. Between the blank face, vaguely superior body language, and wideset stance, he looked like some kind of Jetiise ideal.

He looked like one of those self-righteous bastards at Galidraan. And that only irritated Jango further.

But Obi-Wan had made it clear that he was going to speak with the Jedi and confront whatever stood between his past and future, whether Jango liked it or not. When he had first decided that, Jango had been proud of Obi-Wan's determination and had been eager to support his little brother in whatever way he could. Now that he was left standing in a field, staring down a Jetii that reminded him of all the worst parts of that Order, he was feeling a lot less magnanimous.

Jinn shifted, and Jango carefully tracked the movement. The man's lightsaber was missing from his hip, but that didn't mean it wasn't hidden up a dangerously wide sleeve or stuffed down a boot. And even if the Jetiise had followed their instructions and left their weapons behind, they still had the Force.

For a moment, Jango wondered if Jinn was going to attempt to make small talk. The thought amused him. What would the Jetii even say? "I fought you on Gala. Good to see you're alive." "Fine weather you have here. Had any good fights recently?"

Then the moment passed with Jinn staring disdainfully at Jango's helmet.

They remained still and silent for some time - Jango could have checked the chronometer on his HUD, but by the time he thought about it, it had already been several minutes and he no longer cared for the specifics - before movement in his peripheral caught Jango's attention. A single figure, Koon, appeared at the top of the _Legacy's_ ramp, paused for a moment, and descended.

For a split second, Jango worried that something had happened to Obi-Wan; that his brother had been killed by a Jetii assassin while Jango had been standing just outside, completely useless. He toggled through the _Legacy's_ internal cameras and relaxed as he spotted Obi-Wan sitting alive and well just outside the cockpit. The kid must have sensed his concern, because he flashed a distracted smile towards the camera before settling into meditation.

Jango had to ruthlessly shove his spike of worry down. As the kid loved to remind him, he had meditated _just fine_ for months. Just because he fell into a dead faint _once_ didn't mean he was going to faint every time he used the Force.

He could feel the kel dor's assessing gaze on him and returned it with his own. Koon moved smoothly, every step a graceful shifting of weight that belied extensive martial arts training. This was a man who could spring into action at any moment, and he had the experience to back it up.

"Young Obi-Wan is fine," Koon declared as soon as he entered polite speaking range. "We spoke and he asked for some time alone to meditate. Obi-Wan is very lucky to have found you. You have taken good care of him when we fell short."

Jango scoffed. That was an understatement.

The kel dor's face moved as if he were grimacing behind his mask. "I have already apologized to little Obi, but I feel I should apologize to you as well. On behalf of the Jedi Order, I apologize for what happened to Obi-Wan on Gala and Bandomeer. Our failure to look after him was reprehensible, and I promise we will not allow that to happen to a youngling again."

Jinn bristled but settled after a single stern look from Koon. Jango noted the power play and turned his glare on the more senior Jetii.

"And what of Galidraan?" he demanded, unable to stop himself.

Koon's head cocked to one side in question. "What of it?"

Jango bit back an angry growl. "I take it he did not tell you how we came to meet."

"He mentioned being sold to a spice freighter and meeting you there," the senior Jetii hedged warily.

He thought he did a good job masking his surprise at Obi-Wan's openness as he asked in a falsely pleasant tone, "So he didn't mention how the Jetiise slaughtered my people?"

Both Jetiise looked confused, and somehow that was even worse than the alternative.

"The Battle of Galidraan, the Republic calls it," he spat. "Over a dozen Jetiise slaughtered my people, wiped us all out, and then turned me over to the governor of Galidraan. I was sold to a deep space spice freighter where I eventually met _your_ lost adiik."

The Jetiise looked a little paler as they traded glances. Jango waited, eyeing both of them, but there was no apology, no reassurance that Galidraan had been a mistake. _Obi-Wan_ had reached that conclusion, but it was becoming apparent that Obi-Wan was just special.

  
"I read the report on that battle," the junior Jetii slowly admitted with a frown. "The terrorists defeated there were slaughtering women and children. If you really were at Galidraan…"

Jango tensed, not liking how that sentence could end.

"So now you care about children? About Ob'ika?" he snarled. The two Jetiise didn't react to his barb, and Jango sent a command to charge the _Legacy's_ cannons.

The two Jetiise tensed at the low, building hum, and Koon sent a sharp look at Jinn. "We always care about younglings," he stated firmly. "And it is clear that you care deeply for young Obi-Wan. Now let's all calm down before this escalates any further."

Jinn scoffed, face twisting as if he were looking at something stuck to the bottom of his boot. "With this as his example," he trailed off.

Jango bristled.

"Master Jinn! You are out of line," Koon snapped. He bowed and said, "My apologies, Mandalorian. Obi-Wan has been a shining example of a Jedi in extenuating circumstances, but it seems _some_ of us have missed that fact."

"No, please, continue, Master Jedi," Jango goaded smoothly, eyes firmly on the human Jetii.

Jinn wisely snapped his mouth shut, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"You know _nothing_ of what happened on Galidraan," Jango spat.

Jinn rolled his eyes and couldn't resist lecturing as if he were imparting some great secret, "Saying something multiple times does not make it closer to the truth. I know what I read and I know what I sensed on that rooftop."

Jango paused. "Rooftop?" he asked softly, suspicion wriggling in the back of his mind. He hadn't realized this Jetii was on the rooftop with Obi-Wan. After he had dug himself free of the porte cochère, he had been too focused on finding and caring for his brother to even begin thinking of finding the Jetii.

The Jetii must have sensed danger as he once again snapped his mouth shut.

"Who are you?" he asked, turning his question to Koon when Jinn refused to answer.

"I am Jedi Master Plo Koon, and this is Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn," Koon repeated warily.

Jango narrowed his eyes and clarified, "Who are you _to Obi-Wan?"_

Neither Jetiise seemed willing to answer, so Jango moved a hand over one vambrace, finger hovering over the button to open fire. Intent mattered as much as imminent threat, or so he suspected, so he focused on that and hoped the Jetiise danger sense kicked in. He would start with the kel dor. If Jinn didn't fold immediately at his senior's death, then Jango would take him down and _extract_ his answers piece by piece.

Obi-Wan would not be happy about threats and interrogations, but Jango needed to know. For Obi-Wan.

(For his fallen vode.)

"You meant something to him," Jango pressed. He frowned, thinking back on their tearful conversations and all of Obi-Wan's little quirks. The way he clung to their little aliit and the way he had been particularly heartbroken about family. " _You_ were the one who hurt him on Gala."

Jinn stiffened and Jango knew he was correct. Fury sparked in his chest and pounded in his ears. Obi-Wan had been a wreck after Gala, but Jango had never found any evidence it was anything other than the horror of killing his own dar'vod. He hadn't realized the Jetii that had attacked was Ob'ika's own dar'buir, or that the shabuir had decided to defend a _monster_ like Xanatos duCrion over Obi-Wan.

The kel dor's apology for Gala made so much more sense now.

He rapidly changed targets, reassigning all but a single cannon to the human. The Jetiise both twitched for weapons that weren't there. Jango slowly shifted into an unassuming ready stance, forcing his hands to unclench for a quicker draw.

"Do you have anything to say, _Jetii?"_ Jango spat, one final nod to civility for Obi-Wan's sake.

"Master Jinn will be censured for his actions on Gala," Koon stated firmly. "I will see to it myself. What he did was abhorrent and unacceptable for a member, let alone a Master, of the Jedi Order."

A dark look zipped across Jinn's face, easily telling Jango what the human thought of that.

Censure wouldn't be enough. Not for what he did to Obi-Wan. Not for a _Jetii._

His hand drifted towards a blaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a little bit of unreliable narrator going on with Jango. Plo has a limited understanding of what happened on Galidraan, so he's withholding judgement. Jango is not interpreting that well.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Adiik = child, age 3-13  
> Vode = brothers/sisters  
> Aliit = family, clan  
> Dar'vod = former-sibling  
> Dar'buir = former-parent, the worst kind of person (aside from a child-hurting monster)  
> Shabuir = motherfucker


	14. And New Doors Open

"Jango? Master Koon? What's going on here?" Obi-Wan interrupted, confusion and alarm dominating his tone.

Jango risked a quick glance at his brother, taking in the wary approach, the hands flexed and ready to pull a blaster at any second, and the helmet carefully angled to allow Obi-Wan the widest field of view, before returning his focus to the Jetiise. If they were surprised by his sudden appearance, they didn't show it. Jinn looked as frustratingly _superior_ as ever while Koon deliberately, calmly, pointedly turned his back towards Jango to greet his brother.

"The three of us were having a civil conversation, and then things got a little heated," Koon explained reassuringly. Obi-Wan clearly did not believe a word the Jetii said as he looked first at Jango and then at Jinn. "We were just starting to calm down."

Jango snorted behind his helmet, but very slowly straightened from his ready stance into a slightly more relaxed stance. He would still able to attack in less than a second - he wasn't an idiot, he knew what Jetiise could do - but he also didn't need to look so overtly aggressive. Not when Obi-Wan was right there.

His brother had been rather adamant about not causing violence. Though, considering just _who_ had arrived, they really needed to renegotiate that.

"Ob'ika, were you ever going to tell me that that shabla demagolka was your dar'buir?" Jango demanded over their shared internal comms.

"Huh?" Obi-Wan asked eloquently. "Jango, what are you talking about?"

"That Jetii. He was supposed to be your buir, and instead _he_ was the one who kicked you out. He made you aruetii," Jango spat.

Obi-Wan's silence was telling in its own way.

Jango felt his righteous offense soar. It was _never_ the job of the parent to kick the child out. Breaking the aliit bond, declaring someone dar'buir, was something only the child could do. That someone would do such a thing to _Obi-Wan,_ to sweet, mandokarla, endlessly kind _Obi-Wan_ was…

"Jango," Obi-Wan cut in soothingly. "Jango, it's fine."

"No, Obi-Wan, it really isn't. What he did was-- it defies words. And he did it to _you,"_ Jango argued, struggling to put the sheer depth of his offense into words. This shabuir, this soulless piece of shit, had done this to someone who would rather ignore the problem and move on than seek justice or vengeance or any sort of consequence for the offender. He scowled, knowing he was about to land a low blow and hating himself for it. "What will stop him from doing that same thing to someone else? Do you want someone else to suffer because you wanted to pretend everything is fine?"

Obi-Wan made a wounded noise that instantly made Jango feel ten times worse. He desperately wanted to apologize, but this Jetii needed to pay.

"Master Koon?" Obi-Wan asked with a slightly wobbly voice, though Jango doubted either of the Jetiise knew Obi-Wan well enough to catch it behind the voice modulator. "Master Jinn will face consequences for what happened, won't he?"

Koon shifted to glance at his companion before returning his attention to Obi-Wan. Jinn stood blank faced and stiff as a board, not a single hint of what he thought about Obi-Wan's question in his demeanor. Jango was not so easily fooled; the man was dangerous, and he was not allowed to take care of that threat.

"I will personally escort Master Jinn to the High Council, who will determine what course of action must be taken next. Rest assured, he will face consequences," Koon stated diplomatically.

Obi-Wan gave him a look as if to say, "See?" Jango frowned as he turned the Jetii's words over in his mind.

"I want more than that," Jango stated, firmly ignoring the exasperated stare he knew Obi-Wan was giving him behind his helmet. "I want to know what these so-called consequences will be and I want to know for how long. And if I believe they still aren't enough, I will _make_ them enough."

Koon regarded him for a minute, tusks pulling in a frown. "I cannot condone vigilante justice, especially against a fellow Jedi," he warned. "But I will see that your demands are heard."

Heard. That was as good as he would get. It was not a guarantee they would be acted on. It was not even a guarantee they would be considered.

How fucking typical for Jetiise.

Exist outside their perfect little universe, stand on the wrong side of their definition of "righteous," and you would never be able to touch them. They would pay lip service to hearings and consequences, but nothing would change. A little slap on the wrist, maybe even a politely phrased apology, and then things would go right back to the way they had always been.

It made him want to tear these two Jetiise apart with his bare hands, just so he could feel some sliver of justice, of karma.

He scoffed. Obi-Wan would never let him do that, not to Jedi. Death Watch? Sure. The kid would probably even help. But the kid still seemed convinced that Jedi were inherently _good._

He would almost regret tearing that belief to shreds.

"And Galidraan?" Jango asked deceptively lightly.

"You're bringing up _Galidraan?"_ Obi-Wan demanded sharply, almost hysterically. "Jango…"

Jango refused to meet his gaze, still glaring at the two Jetiise. Obi-Wan slowly followed his lead, and Jango could see how the kid's shoulders slumped the longer the two Jetiise held their silence.

"Please don't tell me you think the Haat'ade were the problem," Obi-Wan begged as softly as his voice modulator allowed. Koon shifted uncomfortably while Jinn looked one second away from glaring. "Master Koon, I thought I explained this."

"The evidence was clear," Jinn asserted. "Mandalorians attacked and killed unarmed political activists and their families, some as young as infants. If you can't see the issue with that…"

"Your 'evidence' was wrong! The Jedi were tricked! There are different factions of Mandalorians, and the Jedi attacked the wrong one," Obi-Wan interrupted. "The Haat'ade were hired to put down a militant rebellion while a different faction, Kyr'tsad, were the ones slaughtering babies and children. But the Jedi just attacked whichever group they found first, and didn't stop to question anything. They didn't stop to ask why Haat'ade - who I _know_ have a soft spot a parsec wide for children - would turn around and kill them. No one did!"

Jinn looked at Obi-Wan with a cross between disgust and pity that did nothing for the anger curling in Jango's gut. "Is that what he told you?" the Jetii asked, eyes briefly flicking to Jango. At Obi-Wan's silence, the man scoffed and immediately rebuked, "A story told from a single point of view by someone who has everything to gain from deceit is not evidence, boy."

"It's not a lie, or does your 'Force' not tell you this?" Jango defended before Obi-Wan could wilt into oblivion.

"It tells me you believe it, but that does not make it the truth," Jinn snapped.

"But truth is something that can be found with proper investigation," Koon interjected, and Jango thought that was a disturbed frown tugging at the man's mask. "Only a small number of Jedi were aware of the mission to Galidraan, let alone know how it transpired. If this story is true and the Jedi assigned to that mission attacked the wrong group, then that will be another thing we must apologize for."

Jango sneered. A "proper investigation" could take decades and go nowhere, lost in committees and hearings and Republic politics until everyone involved had died of old age.

Koon must have guessed his thoughts despite the beskar, since he immediately added, "This is a Jedi matter. Our investigation will be swift but thorough. If we were at fault, then we will do what it takes to rectify our mistakes."

He would see a Hutt tap dance before any of this so-called "rectification" actually happened, but forcing the Jedi to see what self-righteous asses they were was a step in the right direction. They may sweep the results under a rug, may pretend the whole incident never happened, hell, they may even try to kill him to maintain the illusion, but someone outside Clan Fett would have to see the truth for what it was.

And shattering that person's belief in the Jedi would taste so sweet.

-0-

Qui-Gon watched the Mandalorian closely. He could barely sense any emotions, or even any kriffing _life_ , from him, but the man's body language said more than enough to make up for it. He was itching for a fight, no matter how ineffectually Kenobi and Koon tried to smooth over the situation.

He sneered internally. How brutish. _This_ was the sort of company they let a vulnerable, impressionable initiate keep.

And now, because of it, he would have to do something beyond distasteful.

He sighed. It would be just another thing to drag him before the Council for, as if his spectacular mistakes on Bandomeer and Gala weren't enough. As if his mistakes with Xanatos and Kenobi weren't enough. As if his efforts to clean up this latest mess weren't enough.

"Little Obi, did you have a chance to reflect on what I said?" Koon asked in a naked and inelegant attempt to change the subject.

Kenobi fumbled with his helmet for a moment before pulling it off and tucking it under one arm. He flashed a grateful smile to the kel dor and offered a shallow bow. "I did, Master. Thank you for giving me that time."

"Think nothing of it, little Obi. It is good that you sought wisdom and peace in the Force before making your choice."

Qui-Gon fought back a scoff at that. Since when did they trust initiates to make choices? Some could feel the Will of the Force, yes, but he had never met an initiate with enough knowledge or skill to truly understand what promptings came from the Force and what promptings came from their own emotions and inexperience.

Kenobi took a deep, centering breath, completely oblivious to Qui-Gon's skeptical thoughts, and began. "When I was in the creche, I dreamt of being a Jedi Knight. I wanted to travel the stars, fight evil, and serve the galaxy like only a Jedi could. I wanted to be a Knight. And for a while, I _knew_ I was meant to be a Knight."

Qui-Gon glanced at Koon for confirmation that his ears were working, but the kel dor was impassive as he patiently waited for Kenobi to finish gathering his words. He frowned. Assuming you would become a Knight was arrogance to an absurd degree, and Koon had to recognize that.

If Koon did, he didn't show it. Qui-Gon frowned. He would have to stay extra alert, to make up for Koon's potential deficiency.

"Which is why I want to thank you again for your generous offer, Master Koon," the boy stated.

What?

Eyes snapped onto him, and Qui-Gon realized he must have exclaimed that aloud. Kenobi looked defiant despite his bloodless face, and how could a Jedi Master like Koon not see the problem with that?

"You offered to take this… boy as your Padawan?" Qui-Gon demanded. " _How?_ How can you not tell that his future is clouded with darkness? That he _will_ Fall?"

Was Koon incapable of seeing it? Was the Jedi Council's willful blindness spreading?

This was worse than he thought.

"I understand not wanting to do what has to be done - I do! Just look at what happened with my former apprentice," Qui-Gon chastised. "But this--"

"I have had a chance to meditate with young Kenobi," Koon interrupted sharply. "When I saw him in the Force, all I saw was a person filled with Light--"

Qui-Gon's frown deepened. This really was worse than he had feared.

Koon glared as if he could sense his thoughts behind his shields. "--Except for a single bond, poisoned by distrust and hurt."

Qui-Gon breathed a sigh of relief. Koon - and quite possibly the whole Order - was not lost. They could still see nascent shadows and the early stirrings of evil. And if the source were as simple as a poisoned bond? Well, that could be taken care of.

Bonds, even those created by the Force itself, could be removed. Tear out the negative influence - rip the boy away from the Mandalorian and his violent, irrational, deceitful ways - and they may yet save the initiate, and save him from having to kill the boy.

That was, if Koon was right. If Koon's judgement could be trusted.

He would have to verify for himself.

Koon was watching him closely, an imperceptible look on his masked and goggled face. It almost looked like pity, but that would be ridiculous. "I investigated that bond, the darkened one," the kel dor started slowly. "And found it led to you."

Qui-Gon froze. "To me?" he repeated dumbly. "We have a Force bond?"

He reached for the Force and found that part of him that tied him to his brothers and sisters in the Force. His bonds were as they had been the last time he had checked: calm, shining, and orderly. The place that used to anchor Xanatos was still raw and painful, but Qui-Gon had given up hope for that to heal years ago.

He couldn't find this supposed Force bond. Master Koon must have been mistaken.

He was just preparing to leave his shallow meditation when he noticed it. There, almost completely eclipsed by the tattered remains of Xanatos, was the thin gasp of a new bond. It was rough and disgusting, frayed in places and hanging on by a single, taut strand. It was an initiate's feeble, instinctual attempt at connection rather than a master's more elegant woven intent.

So Master Koon was not completely mistaken about one thing. But how could this bond be cold and dark when he was a paragon of the light? He had dedicated his whole life to following the Will of the Force. It should be impossible for him to be the source of the evil Koon had felt in that bond.

And yet, all he sensed from the bond was light. It was feeble and weak and nearly strangled by a pervasive grey fog, but it grew noticeably clearer the further he traced along the thread.

Was Master Koon right? Was he the problem?

He hadn't wanted to believe it on Gala. He hadn't been _ready_ to believe it on Gala. Xanatos - dear, sweet, monstrous Xanatos - had just died, and he had not been prepared for it. It was easier to shift the blame, to pin all his faults and all his beloved son's faults on some unwelcome newcomer, than to face one simple, damning possibility:

Maybe _he_ had Fallen.

Maybe this was like a sun creeping below the horizon; the star's passage across the sky took long enough you never noticed how dark it was until you could no longer see your hand in front of your face. Maybe he had slipped into the Dark and never noticed.

He had to think about this. Meditate on this.

And maybe, Force save him, get some help for this.

(He ignored the insidious voice in the back of his head that whispered that this could still be Kenobi's fault. That was the Dark, telling him that the boy was powerful enough, had Fallen far enough, to make a Jedi Master Fall. It certainly couldn't be his own thoughts.)

(That would be impossible.)

-0-

"We have a Force bond?" Jinn asked, sounding completely flummoxed. The Jetii's eyes went distant, though Jango was not foolish enough to believe he left himself vulnerable.

And even if he had, the other Jetii and Obi-Wan would keep him from giving Jinn the beating he deserved.

"It… has come to my attention that there are… things," the Jetii fumbled inelegantly. He bowed to no one in particular and took a hasty step backwards towards Arpat. "Excuse me."

"But what about our Force bond?" Obi-Wan demanded.

Jinn barely paused, one hand raising to gesture dismissively. "I'll begin breaking it immediately, of course."

Obi-Wan looked ready to protest, but Jinn was already walking away. He promptly turned to Master Koon.

"I shall show you those techniques," Koon promised. "And if you feel that bond start to slip or tug, tell me immediately so I can help."

Obi-Wan nodded, but Jango could read nervousness in the set of his little brother's shoulders and mouth. His mind raced to figure out what had set Obi-Wan off, and he scowled as it reached a simple conclusion.

"If that shabuir hurts him…" Jango threatened.

"It will not come to that," Master Koon stated firmly.

"It better not," Jango growled lowly, protective fury sparking to life in his chest. If this Jetii was lying to him, if Obi-Wan was hurt by that piece of shit _again_ …

Well. He was Mandalorian. He was the man who killed six Jetiise with his bare hands, and he was the man who would enjoy breaking that record.

"I expect my other demands will be met. And know that if I ever see him again, there will be a pyre," eventually, Jango promised.

Master Koon locked gazes with him and dipped his head the smallest fraction. Jango relaxed slightly. His message had been received.

Obi-Wan shifted, clearly uncomfortable with some good cold revenge and death threats being exchanged right in front of him. Jango caught his eye and shifted in a silent apology. Obi-Wan heaved a sigh and shot a half-hearted glare in his direction.

"I believe you were explaining your decision," Master Koon prompted after a few moments.

"Right," Obi-Wan answered slowly, completely unaware of how Jango's stomach swooped at the subject change. His explanation had felt like the preamble to a farewell, and Jango…

Jango wasn't sure he could stand to hear who Ob'ika was saying farewell to.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, steadying himself before he locked gazes with Koon. "Master Koon, thank you for your offer. Becoming a Jedi Knight and learning from you would be a dream come true," he said while bits of Jango's heart shattered. "But I must decline."

For a second, Jango wasn't sure he heard it right. And then relief flooded through him, almost bowling him over with its strength. His brother, his _Ob'ika,_ had chosen _him._

He was grateful for his helmet. No one needed to know what his face looked like right now.

"A lot has happened since I first left the Temple," Obi-Wan was saying, head ducked down so he didn't have to look anyone in the eye. "I'm not the Initiate I used to be, and I don't think I can ever be him again. Jango and I are aliit now, and I…"

"You can't give that up," Koon finished with an understanding tone.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Kind of? I'm attached to him, I know that, but I also know that if it was his turn to march far away that I could let him go. It's more like I don't _want_ to leave him, and I realized that I don't have to. I'm still helping people, and the people I've helped on Galidraan and everyone affected by Offworld are the ones overlooked by the Republic. And it's not like I can't use the Force anymore. I can still be a Jedi and follow the Force, but… just not… a _Jedi_ ," he finished lamely.

Koon smiled warmly at Obi-Wan, and Jango felt his opinion for this Jedi raise a notch. He… wasn't sure he could have handled a rejection with as much grace. "Very well, little Obi. You should be proud of yourself. This is not an easy decision, and you did well to request time to meditate on it," the kel dor praised before shifting so he stood straighter, more formally.

"Jedi Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi, on behalf of the Jedi High Council, I release you from your oath. May you continue to follow the Force, and may the Force be with you," Koon said solemnly, ending with a deep bow.

Obi-Wan bowed low in return, and when he straightened, Jango could see the kid's relief in his shoulders and dopey grin. "Thank you, Master. May the Force be with you," he said rather belatedly.

The kel dor's tusks twitched in amusement and he tucked his hands back into his sleeves. "I hope you will forgive me for delaying, little Obi, but I did not want to burden you before you had a chance to make and voice your decision. First, I believe this is yours," he said, withdrawing a lightsaber from his sleeve.

Jango twitched for his blaster. He had thought Koon was better than Jinn, and they had kriffing said--!

But the kel dor held the weapon across his open palm as a peace offering, not a threat. Not that Obi-Wan took it well as he blanched and stumbled back a half step. "That's not mine. Not anymore, at least. The crystal…" he trailed off.

"I see," the kel dor said mournfully. He stared at the lightsaber for a long moment before tucking it back into his sleeve. Jango nearly protested the action - a weapon was a weapon, and a lightsaber was rare and valuable - but he bit his tongue. This was Obi-Wan's choice, and he would respect it. No matter how dumb he thought it was.

"The other thing I had is: Initiate Eerin asked that I tell you that she hopes you are okay and that you call her soon. She seemed quite determined to make sure I knew this," Master Koon recalled fondly.

"Bant?" Obi-Wan repeated, surprised. "I thought…" he trailed off again before shaking his head. "Of course I'll call. The Temple frequency works?"

"It should," Koon agreed. "Now, shall I show you that technique?"

"Yes, please. We can do it inside," Obi-Wan invited, leading the way back into the _Legacy_.

Jango tried not to hover too conspicuously as Obi-Wan and Koon took seats around the comm suite. He knew he failed the moment Obi-Wan cracked an eye and looked rather pointedly between the spot next to him on the bench, the cockpick, and the hall, a silent demand to either stop standing awkwardly or hover elsewhere. He slid onto the bench next to Obi-Wan.

If Koon had any thoughts on Jango's intrusion, he kept them to himself.

The Jedi stilled, and Obi-Wan quickly followed suit. Jango sat patiently, eyes firmly affixed to the kel dor as he used the Force. He didn't know that the Jedi would do something untoward towards his family, but it never hurt to be cautious.

As the minutes ticked by, Jango had to admit that waiting for Force users to stop meditating was boring. There was a reason he often worked on other stuff while Obi-Wan sat in a corner.

He didn't want to service one of his pistols, not when there was still a possible threat in blasting range, but he also didn't like sitting in his own ship doing nothing. He scowled, dug a few rags and some oil out of a belt pouch, and tugged his helmet off.

He was finishing the last pass over the visor when he felt eyes watching him. He glanced up, brows furrowed in a silent request for the Jetii to stop staring.

"You're younger than I expected," Koon commented deceptively lightly.

Jango scowled and pulled his helmet back over his face. "Sorry to disappoint," he replied sarcastically.

Obi-Wan sighed and chided, "Jango."

"Did you get the thing taken care of?" Jango deflected.

"Yes. Master Koon was very helpful, and Master Jinn had already started removing the bond on his side when we began," Obi-Wan answered, eye roll implied in his tone.

"So it's gone entirely?"

"It is, and young Obi-Wan should know how to handle any future unwanted connections," Koon stated.

Jango nodded. "Good. Thank you," he ground out, "for helping Obi-Wan."

The kel dor inclined his head regally but made no move to leave. Jango frowned and prepared to escort the Jedi off his ship, by blasterpoint if necessary.

"May I speak with you?" the Jedi asked before looking apologetically at Obi-Wan and adding, "Privately?"

Obi-Wan glanced between the two of them for a moment before shrugging and rising from the bench. "Okay. Just don't kill each other," he ordered, half jokingly.

Jango rolled his eyes as Obi-Wan filed past and left the room. He had successfully not-killed Jinn twice. He could handle Koon.

The kel dor watched him for several moments before shifting and folding his hands on the edge of the comm table. "I realize what I'm about to ask may be uncomfortable, but I feel this is important for Obi-Wan's sake," Koon began.

Jango straightened in interest. If it was something pertaining to Obi-Wan's health or happiness, then he could wait to kick the Jedi off his ship.

"Have either of you spoken about your experiences with someone else?" the Jedi asked, tone gentling the blunt words.

Jango frowned. "Why would we? We were both there."

The look Koon gave him bordered uncomfortably close to pity, and Jango found his frown shift into a scowl. The kel dor deflated, hands spreading out around the table's rim. "I realize I have no authority over you," he said slowly. "But please allow me to offer some advice: find someone to talk to. It doesn't have to be Obi-Wan - it probably shouldn't be Obi-Wan - but find someone. He looks up to you, and I feel he will do anything he can to help you, but he doesn't deserve your burdens."

Jango snorted. No one deserved his burdens.

Koon sighed, face tipping down to stare at his hands before he reached into his robes to extract a scrap of flimsi and a stylus. He scribbled something across the surface and placed it on the table between them. "That's my comm code. You don't have to use it if you don't want to, but it will always be available. If I don't answer immediately, I'll answer as soon as I can."

"Was that it?" Jango drawled.

"Yes. Thank you," Koon answered, pushing himself to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I believe young Obi-Wan is patiently waiting."

Jango watched the kel dor leave before he snatched the bit of flimsi and tucked it in a belt pouch.

-0-

Obi-Wan was impatiently hovering and he knew it. But he also thought it was only fair, considering how much time Jango spent hovering around him.

He had no reason to worry. Despite his intimidating looks, Master Koon was nice and caring, and Jango probably wouldn't pick a fight with him. He was only the first Jedi Master to offer him an apprenticeship. The first to offer an opportunity to fly across the galaxy, helping people and achieving his childhood dreams.

He sighed. Jango was definitely going to pick a fight with him.

Sometimes, he really hated his stupid big brother.

He sensed movement from inside the ship. He hastily straightened, tucked his helmet under one arm in what he hoped looked like a casual pose, and turned to meet whoever was descending the ramp.

"Hi, Master," he greeted the kel dor, hoping the Jedi Master didn't catch his tinge of disappointment. "Did everything go okay?"

"Koh-to-yah, little Obi. I would say it went as well as could be hoped," Master Koon answered wryly. Before Obi-Wan could begin to puzzle out what that meant, the kel dor continued. "But I'm afraid it is time for me to depart. Before I leave, may I offer you some wisdom, as the man who would have been proud to call you Padawan?"

Obi-Wan met the kel dor's gaze eagerly, curiosity sparking in his chest. "Of course, Master."

Master Koon smiled. "Trust your instincts. They have served you well, and the Force will not lead you astray," the Jedi Master advised while Jango descended from the ship behind him. "You form bonds easily. Listen to the Force, cherish those bonds you form with people who mean you well, and be wary of people who mean you harm. Hurting is a part of living, but no one is meant to live a life rooted in pain."

"Okay? Thank you for your wisdom," Obi-Wan said, despite not being certain he understood.

Plo smiled and, with a certain grave finality, intoned, "May the Force be with you."

"May the Force be with you. Maybe we'll meet again," Obi-Wan returned.

The Jedi Master bowed one last time and began the long trek towards Arpat. Obi-Wan watched him go, feeling like some chapter of his life was closing. And as Jango stepped next to him, it felt like a new chapter was beginning.

As the Jedi Master disappeared below the horizon, Obi-Wan pulled his helmet back over his face and turned to his brother. "Back home?" he asked.

"Back home," Jango agreed, despite both of them knowing they already were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no (further) Qui-Gon punching or murder here. But Plo did try to dad the fuck out of both Obi-Wan and Jango, so there's that.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it (though if you made it through 70k words, I'm going to assume something worked for you). To everyone who left kudos and/or comments, thank you so much. I know I'm not the best at responding, but I have, and still do, read every single comment and cherish every bit of feedback. I even keep the email alerts.
> 
> The adventure is not over (I have plot points going all the way through the Clone Wars and beyond), but I've decided to split this story here for organizational purposes. Hondo swaggered into my brain while I was editing these last few chapters, so be on the lookout for what should be a brief, humorous interlude before part two: Juri Ner Vode Yaim (I Carry My Brothers Home).
> 
> StewedSpice, you asked for an update on our baby knights back in Chapter 12. I couldn't find a way to slip this in, but peace did eventually return to Gala. Beju was exposed as not-the-real-heir-to-the-throne, a lot of people died in the ensuing revolution, and an as-yet-unnamed Galacian rose to power. Knights Dar and Gilman were sent back to the Temple with a bitter taste in their mouths, but their hands were tied the moment the Galacian kicked them out for "interfering in intraplanetary affairs." Dar went on to take Luminara Unduli as her Padawan while Gilman returned to the field.
> 
> Feeney, you have asked multiple times for a look inside the Temple, so I wrote a coda for you. Unless I messed up the AO3 stuff, it should be linked as part of this series.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Jetii(se) = Jedi, though I use this term (vs Jedi) whenever Jango is feeling unkind  
> Shabla demagolka = fucking monster, though "monster" is something of an understatement for how horrible a demagolka is  
> Dar'buir = former-parent  
> Aruetii = a traitor or outsider  
> "Maybe we'll meet again" is the literal translation of a Mando'a farewell (though Obi-Wan used Basic for that)
> 
> Kel Dorian:  
> Koh-to-ya = greetings


End file.
